


Page Turner

by Decibelle



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Not Hockey Player(s), Alternate Universe - You've Got Mail Fusion, Emotional Infidelity, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, endgame pb&j
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-08 21:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12873804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decibelle/pseuds/Decibelle
Summary: Eric Bittle lives a small, charming life. He owns a sweet bookstore, he has good friends, a steady boyfriend and a nice home in New York. From the outside that should be enough, so he doesn't tell anyone about his secret online romance with one NY504, a stranger who makes him feel worthy and at home. It's all innocent, right?Kent Parson is larger than life. Back in New York after successfully setting up his family's book chain out West, he's ready to make a claim on the city, regardless of who he might run out of business. He loves his family, his boyfriend, and his best friend, and yet somehow feels no guilt over his long-running flirtation with his anonymous ShopBoy.They both have a lot to learn.





	1. New York

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [PBJ_EpiFest_2017](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PBJ_EpiFest_2017) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> Media to be Remixed: You’ve Got Mail  
> Prompt Details: Bitty as Kathleen, Kent as Joe, and Jack as Frank  
> Additional Info: Jack and Bitty are in a stale long term relationship. Kent's Bitty's mysterious online pen pal. It'd be awesome if instead of Jack and Bitty breaking up, they have a healthy discussion about how to improve their relationship and then talk about the possibility of polyamory early on. (the more Kent/Bitty rivalry and angst, the better tbh). it'd be really awesome if it was a full on AU where Bitty owns a bookstore, but go with your muse  
> This is a submission for the PB&J Epifest. Check Please and it's fabulous cast of characters belong to Ngozi.  
> Outrageous amounts of thanks to my awesome beta and to my friends for their encouragement through this project!

####  **Fall**

 

The pillow Eric rolls onto when his phone starts to chirp is cold. He can't remember the last time he woke up to a warm body after six AM and he huffs into the cotton cover. He can hear the flurry of movement around the bed, footsteps padding from one side of the room to the other.  When he peeks open one eye there's an uncomfortably placed beam of light across his skin which causes him to grunt and wriggle backwards. Steam is wafting out of the bathroom door left ajar and he is sure that were he to investigate he would find the whole room dripping with condensation. 

"Why do you insist on your shower being so darn hot? You're going to boil yourself someday n' it's too hot to join you."

Eric mostly grumbles this into his pillow, lamenting his future gas bill. The sounds of movement stop and there's a huff denoting a laugh before he feels a perfunctory kiss pressed to his hair.

"Like you would ever get up early enough to join me."

Jack sounds amused and Eric rolls over to smile sleepily at him. His boyfriend doesn't linger and instead he turns away to finish buttoning up his shirt (always from the bottom, never the top). 

"If only you would be late for once in your life. Aren't you creative types supposed to march to the beat of your own drum or something? Following inspiration late into the night and along the edges of sanity?"

Eric makes himself sit up only to hunch into the covers as he becomes aware of how the only real warmth in the room is coming from the steam. 

Jack laughs on his way out the door, pausing to smile at him. "You're thinking of writers, not journalists. I'll see you tonight. Sushi?" Eric does his best to hide any exasperation at the predictability of this. Always sushi on Tuesdays, without fail.

"Sounds great. See you, honey. Have fun raging against the machine!" He thinks Jack might not have heard him until there's a shout from the next room.

"I always do!"

The front door closes and Eric is left in silence. He spies the familiar blue flash from his phone indicating either a new email or an app alert.

He suddenly feels wide awake.

He waits a beat, checking to make sure Jack isn't coming back for something he's forgotten, then launches himself out of the bed and, wearing his blankets like a cape, hurries into the cold living room.

Jack doesn't like any technology in the bedroom and while Eric insists on keeping his phone handy in case of emergency ("What sort of emergencies can a bookshop really have? Mass papercuts?"), he has to stow his laptop under the coffee table on the nights Jack sleeps over. 

Eric peers out the front window and waits. A few seconds pass and then Jack steps out of the front door and, without a glance backwards, he marches off down the street. Eric breathes a sigh of relief and throws himself onto the couch to become a cozy blanket burrito filling. He takes out his laptop and settles on his side to watch it load up.

Once it loads, his breath catches as he sees it, there in the bottom of his screen - that beautiful, daunting red number 1. He has mail.

__ From: NY704 <ny704@pleasemail.com>  
To: ShopBoy <shopboy@pleasemail.com>  
Subject: Kitt 

_ I have a cat. Her name is Kitt and she loves the New York skyline as much as I do, although I enjoy viewing it at the end of a long day with my feet up and she prefers to view it through her legs while she cleans herself. She is the queen of her domain and we are just her minions, an entire city of devoted patrons just for her. Or that’s how she tells it.  _

_ Don’t you love New York in the fall? Something about it makes me want to go out and buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of freshly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address. This anonymous thing does have it’s charms though. It’s so much easier to bear one’s soul to another person without making eye contact. I imagine, in the unkind chambers of my likely decrepit heart, that should I turn up on your doorstep with my bouquet of pencils, you might be tempted to stab me with them. As it stands, I never need know. _

 

_X_

 

Kent raises his glass of orange juice up off the counter to keep Kitt from knocking it off with her paw. It’s a game they play. Kent calls it self-preservation. Kitt seems to think of it as redecorating.

“OJ on the tiles is not in keeping with the spirit of minimalism, princess.” He picks her up with his hand and settles her against his side as he returns to the kitchen table to finish his crossword. He’s always felt that reading the paper each morning is the sign of a refined businessperson. The only issue is that he hates the newspaper and spends more time doodling in the margins than actually reading it. Derek always tends to catch him right as he gives up on professionalism and turns to the funny pages.

“Do you have my manuscript?” The man in question hollers from somewhere deep in the apartment. Kent does a cursory glance and sips his juice. 

“No!” He shouts back, puzzling over eight across as Kitt sweetly bats at his pen. She’s always at her cutest before she’s about to wreak terror so he keeps a hold on her as a preventative measure. 

Footsteps draw near and Derek slides into the room, looking perfectly put together in his vest and suit trousers, were it not for the Garfield slippers on his feet. He runs his hand back through his hair and levels an unimpressed look at Kent and Kitt, who both stare innocently back.

“Oh you don’t have it, do you?” Derek repeats as he crosses the kitchen to pick up the bound stack of pages on the marble countertop. 

“Ah. That manuscript. How’s that coming along, by the way?” Kent asks it nicely and is honestly surprised by the huff it earns. Derek takes Kent’s glass to help himself to a sip, then leaves it on the table just out of his reach.

“As if I wasn’t already nervous enough to be pitching my own work to my boss today. God, Kent. Do you just hear warbling when I speak?” He clutches the stack to his chest and starts out the door again. Kent cringes.

“But you sound so pretty! I get distracted, babe. You’ll do great!” He almost asks Derek where he left his ‘chill’ but manages to stop himself before becoming a colossal asshat. In their time together, he’s watched with some unease as his laidback poet boyfriend grew into a keyed up literary agent who simply does not have the time to relax. Kent likes to think that his own transformation was less dramatic but just as noteworthy. For example, it had been months since he’d made anybody cry, to his knowledge.

When it becomes clear that Derek is not coming back he looks to Kitt with a conspiratorial grin. He sets her down on the table and takes away the glass before she can topple it, then lifts up his newspaper to pull out his tablet. His business account is overflowing but he ignores it, electing instead to open up the email address he’s made for socialising in the nerdier parts of the web. There is one message and in it lies his salvation (or excuse to procrastinate for another ten minutes).

 

__From: ShopBoy <shopboy@pleasemail.com>  
To: __NY704 <ny704@pleasemail.com>  
Subject: Dear Friend

_ I like to start my notes to you as if we’re already in the middle of a conversation. I pretend that we’re the oldest and dearest of friends instead of who we actually are - people who don’t know each other’s names. “What will he say today?” I wonder. I avoid my computer for as long as I can, living for that anticipation, for that notice on my screen. I log in, I watch and I wait. I hear nothing. Not even the sound of the streets of New York, just the beat of my own heart. I have mail. From you. _

 

_X_

 

The shop always smells like home when Eric unlocks the door each morning. There is a moment of peace before he starts each day where he can stand under the twinkling bell at the entrance and take in a deep breath of old pages, fresh coffee, new routines and feel the familiarity in his bones so deeply that he can almost see his mother twirling through the store, laughing as she hangs more trimmings on every available surface. The moment never lasts long on chilly mornings.

“Come on, Bits! It’s cold as balls out here!” Adam crowds Eric through the door, huffing and nudging not unlike a large dog as he tries to shoo him inside with his body while keeping a grip on two large coffees. Eric shakes loose his memories and puts on a smile as he hurries inside. 

“Don’t you love New York in the fall?” Eric’s sigh is wistful as he looks out the window at the passers by once Adam has stopped pushing him inside. He flips the open sign and drifts over to the counter while smiling to himself. After he’s settled the cash drawer in the till he looks up to see Adam regarding him with a strange expression. His brows are furrowed and he looks as if he’s holding a frog in his mouth.

“What’s up with you?” Adam asks after a beat. Eric looks back down at the cash register and punches in and then clears some nonsense amounts to seem busy.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re in love, aren’t you?” Adam crosses his arms and stares Eric down.

“What? No!” Bitty turns away, blushing, before straightening up. “I mean, yes! Of course. I’m in love with Jack. Of course I’m in love with Jack. Jack is lovely, when I actually get to see him I mean. He’s so busy and important.” He knows he’s rambling, so he ducks behind the counter to fiddle with the held orders.

“Eric. Spill.” Eric continues to hide behind the counter even as Adam comes to loom over him. He usually only calls Eric by his given name when he’s serious or has caught him at something. Today, it’s both.

Eric slowly rises to his feet and takes a deep breath. He meets Adam’s large, concerned eyes and exhales.

“Is it infidelity if you’re only talking to a person online?” 

It feels wrong to even say the word out loud, but there’s no denying that the thrill he feels each time he receives a new email from NY704 is not the same innocent excitement he gets when his friends from college send him little updates. Although he knows nothing specific about his online kindred spirit besides his gender, home city and as of this morning, the name of his cat, he feels a connection that he’s certain would not receive Jack’s approval. Even if Jack liked technology, it would not be okay.

“Bits, holy shit. Tell me everything.” Adam hauls himself up on the counter and pulls Eric in by his shoulders to stand between his legs. He’s even taller now, the top of his hair brushing against the book cover bunting Larissa had made last spring. Eric has to look up and up which gives him a beat to gather his thoughts.

“Okay, on my birthday I was feeling a tad ridiculous so I joined this LGBT over thirties group? And, there he was. It’s just email. Letters, almost. I mentioned I thought letter writing was so romantic in the past and we’ve been swapping emails ever since. I mean, I’m sure it’s not cheating. Is it cheating?” 

He can’t tell from Adam’s expression what the answer is. Adam is so loud and cheerful that it’s disconcerting to see him deep in thought.

“I don’t know, Bits. Have you had sex?”

“No! I told you! It’s all online.” Eric is sure he’s blushing brightly and he tries to turn away and end the conversation but Adam’s grip on his shoulders is firm.

“Cyber sex. You know, like skype and shit? You can do all kinds of kinky stuff without ever meeting in person." At this, Eric does manage to pull away and though he avoids the urge to throw himself into the book stacks and not come out, he does turn his back to play with the already perfect display about Escaping into New Worlds. He's quite proud of it, unlike this conversation.

Adam slides over to stand on the opposite side of the pyramid display and waits.

"No! Of course not. It's not even like that. We haven't done specifics. I don't know his name or what he looks like-" He cuts off at the rude gesture Adam is making, now grinning. At least with him smiling again, Eric knows where he stands. "What  _ any _ part of him looks like," he continues, smiling a little himself now. "We're strangers. I don't know anything of substance about him and vice versa, so even if it were cheating, I can stop anytime because it's nothing. It means nothing."

"You realise people say that about sex too and unless you and Jack have an arrangement you've neglected to tell me about, and if so for SHAME because I want in, then you might want to think seriously about what you're doing. You don't know ANYTHING about this guy? If he is a guy. What if he's a nut? What if he's the next person who walks into the store?"

The bell above the door chimes as it's pushed open by the skinny posterior of the other assistant in the shop, William Poindexter. Dex's timing is often miserable, so he doesn't even look that surprised to turn and be faced with two very odd looks from his coworkers. Although he appears unaffected he goes red to his ears and looks down at the two coffees in his hands like he's expecting it to offer some answers.

When it doesn't, he looks up again and snaps, "What?!"

Adam throws a hand to his expansive chest and huffs, appearing hurt. Eric rolls his eyes and heads back to the counter to avoid being in the middle of all the dramatics. Whenever Adam is near, everything is a pantomime. 

"Dexy! Dextrose. Dexamilion. Pleeeease tell your Aunty Adam that you haven't been secretly romancing our Bitty online without telling me. I would have given you pointers! You know he likes it when you nibble behind his left-"

"Leave them alone, Holtzy."

Dex breathes a sigh of relief as their office manager Larissa's dry tone cuts through the monologue. She appears through the door at Dex's elbow (although she likes to remind them her head almost reaches his shoulder) and takes the second to go cup from his hand. She gives him a brief pat on the arm then stalks off through the store to her office at the back. Technically, it's Eric's office since he's the owner, but he never goes in there except to hide from the occasional devastatingly hot customer - usually doting dads or the odd lost hipster. 

"Yeah, leave us alone," Dex snaps and starts unwinding his ridiculously thin scarf as he follows Larissa. "And you're only like three years older than me, don't pretend to be wise. What are you even talking about? I haven't been like, stalking Bitty. Bits, you know that, right?" The honest concern on Dex's sweet freckled face is enough to warm Eric's heart and he waves it off with the stack of receipts he's holding.

"Oh sweetheart, I know. Adam's being silly about nothing." He levels a look at the giant puppy of a man in question. "It's  _ nothing _ ."

Adam holds his hands up in surrender and turns on his heel to follow Larissa into the office.

"Hey, Lardface! Give me a sip of that sugar masquerading as coffee."

Eric sighs. These friends of his.

 

_X_

 

Kent is smiling stupidly to himself as he slips through the canvas-covered entrance into the store. Construction is almost complete and he can already see exactly what it's going to look like in his mind's eye. Once there's trivial additions like carpet, electricity, shelving, oh and books.

As it stands now, there's tarps over the floors, the ceilings are unfinished and there are wires hanging from odd spots that have got to be a hazard. He's glad he doesn't have to wear a helmet inside anymore because it ruined his hair, but he does wonder briefly if he still needs one. His good mood cannot be spoiled though and he beams at Chris, one of his oldest friends stepping up into the role of branch manager for this site, as he approaches him by the non-functioning escalators. To be fair, he doesn't beam often, so he can't really blame Chris for the way he pulls up shot at the sight of him.

"Are you alright?" Chris tilts his head at Kent, but when he doesn't immediately reply, Chris shrugs and starts leading him up the escalator. 

"The shelves showed up last night but they were the wrong height so we had to send them back. Picture Spinal Tap levels of miscommunication. Anyway, they're sending the right ones across from Maine and they should be in by next week. The electrician called and it's so sad, apparently last night their truck hit a deer. The deer didn't make it and neither did their truck, so they won't be in until tomorrow. The good news is that the debacle with the stairs has been sorted, so we should be on time to-"

"Great, that's great," Kent says idly as he reaches the top of the steps and turns to survey the upper level. "Has the electrician arrived yet?"

He barely notes how Chris scrunches up his face in exasperation then swallows it down. Chris has the patience of a saint and it's likely the main reason he's stayed friends with Kent so long. He is not ungrateful for this.

"I just told you. He killed Bambi. What's up with you?"

"I hear nothing. Nothing. Not the sounds on the street just the beat of my own heart. Something like that, I'm not sure how it goes."

Kent turns towards the stairs again knowing he'll be expected to make an appearance at the upstairs office (naturally completed and furnished before the rest of the store). He misses Chris' pained smile directed at his back.

"Kent, did- Did you and Nurs- Derek get engaged? That's wonderful. Wonderful! I'm so happy for you!" 

Kent stops short and his hips smacks into the guardrail. 

"What? No, shit, of course not!"

Chris falters again, his usual confident exuberance seeming to fail for this particular topic of conversation.

"But things are good between you two, right? You'd tell me if something... changed?"

Kent waves Chris' worries off with one hand, but sensing it isn't as easy as that, straightens up to face him. Chris was the one to introduce him to Derek, so he doesn't want to give the impression he isn't being good to him. Kent’s happiness over his morning email wanes in the face of some well deserved guilt.

"No, Chris, come on. I love Derek. Derek is fantastic. If anything were going to change I'm sure one of us would have told you months in advance. You know, so you could have your party planned."

The sigh Chris lets out seems so relieved that Kent doesn't quite know what to make of it. It seems best just to leave it alone, so he drops it and lets Chris steer him towards his office, although at present it is occupied by the true owner of the company, Kent's mother, Mariana Radley. Although Kent likes to feel that the company is his own, there's no denying that Mariana was not only the founding force behind Ace Books, but she has continued to sculpt it into an unstoppable entity long after acquiring it in a litigate-heavy divorce and putting Kent in charge. It doesn't matter how many interviews and parties he attends, everyone knows and loves Mariana and her maternal ruthlessness. 

Such ruthlessness is plain as day as Kent leads the way into his office and finds her reading the newspaper with her outrageous stilettos up on the desk. She flips down the paper and grins at him, all teeth. 

"Darling! Did you hear the wonderful news. Chrissy, dear, did you tell him?" 

Kent glances at Chris, who as usual looks casually unaffected by the unwelcome nickname. They both love his mother, but she has her little faults. Kent drops down onto a rather uncomfortable mod sofa and raises an eyebrow at his friend.

"No,  _ Christopher _ didn't. What happened?" Kent can feel himself already smiling as he watches his mother return her feet to the floor and sets down the paper with a flourish.

"Bright Star Books. They're closing!" She grins down at him and hurries over, so he dutifully stands to hug her, even though they haven't even had a hand in this particular shutdown. Maybe the next one, though.

"That's great, Mama. I'll look into it today and see if there's anything worth salvaging from their inventory. They're the arts and architecture specialist, right?" Over his mother's shoulder he can see Chris making a half-hearted 'rah rah' cheering gesture that makes Kent snort.

Mariana pulls away and gives him a knowing look before returning to her desk to lean against it. 

"We celebrate now but then we take it in our stride. By the time we're done with Manhattan  _ we _ will be every specialist store for our customers. That's the arts taken care of. There's that little hovel that seems notoriously obsessed with stocking plays. What else is here on the West Side?" One of her perfectly sharp purple nails taps against her chin as she ponders takeovers.

"Isn't there that children’s book store, just around the-"

"Oh! Shop Around The Corner!" Chris smiles brightly and he pulls out his phone while dropping into the seat Kent had vacated. Kent gets back at him by landing in his lap and getting shoved off for his trouble.

"That place is great," Chris continues as he looks it up on his phone. "They have a really diverse selection and a ton of LGBT material aimed at children and young adults. My neighbour's kids love it."

"Well then I look forward to buying out their inventory too," Mariana replies, her voice cool as she effectively shuts down Chris' excitement. Kent pats his hand and gives it a squeeze.

"Don't worry, babe. We'll make our store the LGBT-est place to buy a cappuccino in Manhattan. I was thinking we could start out with a section dedicated to famous queer writers of New York. Just jot something down for Derek to publish and we'll put you front and centre, make you a star." He pouts his lips in a kissy face at Chris and snickers when a palm collides with his face to push him away.

"Let's start with the trans people who actually write stuff and then go from there. Jerk." 

Kent goes to respond but Mariana's sigh catches his attention. She has her hand over her eyes.

"Would you boys go be sweet somewhere else? I have a big day of being mean planned and I don't intend to have you ruin my edge. Speaking of mean, darling don't forget that you promised to help me select a new nanny this weekend. Enjoy your day, honey."

"Thanks, mother. Try not to make anyone cry." Kent gets to his feet and offers Chris a hand, who gets up without it and pokes him up near his armpit repeatedly until he giggles on their way out. 

"Man, I went ahead and missed you when I was away. What for? You're such a tool," he teases and slings an arm around Chris' shoulders.

"I still haven't forgiven you for taking my best friend off into the desert for two years while you built your empire, you know," Chris snaps back, before gasping. "I mean, not that you're not my best friend too. Of course you are. I love you both but it sucked having you across the country when it's much easier to irritate you locally!" He tries to save face with an insult at the end, but Chris has always been so genuine when it come to protecting his feelings. As if Kent can dish it out but can't take it.

"I love you too, Chris. But I'm back now and we're going to be an unstoppable team. Just watch us."


	2. The Book Business

_ From:  _ __ ShopBoy <shopboy@pleasemail.com>  
To:  __ NY704 <ny704@pleasemail.com>  
Subject: Fluttershy

_ I once read a book about a butterfly on the subway and today I actually saw it! It got on at Penn Station and off at the Museum of Natural History, presumably to hit the gift shop because I can’t think of another reason to go there. I like to imagine that my little traveling companion will find its way to Central Park, where it will live out its days being the most well-travelled butterfly in New York. It reminds me of a lovely picture book about a flightless pigeon called Gary.  _

_ What is it about butterflies that they're always out in the fall rather than the spring? I wonder how long it takes for a caterpillar to become a butterfly. I'm certain I could find a book on it!  _

 

__ From: NY704 <ny704@pleasemail.com>  
To:  __ ShopBoy <shopboy@pleasemail.com>  
Subject: NY at Night

_ On a late night trek out in the cold for cat food I had the great fortune of passing a bakery that was getting its flour delivery. The pump the flour in through the basement and it fills the air with an ethereal quality that makes me grateful for the wonderful weirdness of New York City. There might be stranger places in the world, God knows I have inhabited many of them, but there's nowhere like this place. If aliens were to come to Earth and they landed on Broadway I don't think anyone would even notice. Someone would assume they were in costume to pass out fliers and eventually we would have a colony of other-worldly street performers at Times Square and the city would be none the wiser. _

_ I wonder what it is that you are grateful for. I'm sure it will be optimistic and kind, whatever it is, being the two qualities I associate most with you. _

 

_From:_ _ShopBoy <shopboy@pleasemail.com>  
To: ___NY704 <ny704@pleasemail.com>  
Subject: Elephant or Hat

_ I have a confession. I must have read The Little Prince over one hundred times. I just love the sweetness of it. I think it should be required reading for anyone looking to find balance in their life. There's a gentle quality to meeting your inner child in this way and it just makes me so upset every time to think of the tenderness the prince shows to his dear rose and the way she insists upon hurting him. I could take or leave Mr Darcy but that childlike devotion pulls at my heartstrings every single time. I recommend it to everyone I see and I hope you have read it. If you haven't, I urge you to get yourself a copy. I think you will love it. _

 

_X_ 

 

Adam Birkholtz is a romantic. He has always said this about himself and embraced the trait. He cries during sappy movies, he buys flowers for every first date and he enjoys singing love songs to anyone who will listen (though mostly Eric is the only person he can get to sit through an entire aria). This romanticism is the reason he misses the sign the first time he passes the nearly finished building on the corner near the bookstore. It’s been going up in stages for days, having only read as much as 'Coming soon to your neighbourhood'. Until now.

He didn't see it at first, because instead he saw  _ him _ . Adam was glaring at his phone when a bike whizzed past, clipping his messenger bag and jerking him forward a step. 

"Hey, asshole!" He shouted after the bike that had already jumped the curb back onto the street and was zipping past a taxi, nearly getting taken out by the vehicle's opening door.

"Woulda served you right," Adam muttered. He started back down towards the shop and that’s when he had the good fortune of seeing the most beautiful man he has ever seen cross his path. 

Although loathe to admit it, Adam usually goes for people (of any gender) with hair. Not to say that this man is bald, the dark stubble of shorn down hair covers perhaps the most symmetrical skull Adam has ever come across. He immediately feels creepy for perving on the shape of someone's head, but then, it makes sense that everything about this man is anatomically perfect. He wears dark framed glasses that rest on cheekbones to die for and when he pauses on the corner, he looks back and sees Adam staring (like a creeper) but still grins so beautifully that Adam goes and drops his damn phone. 

Fortunately, the screen is already cracked from when he'd angrily thrown it at the television after a particularly bad Bachelor casting choice in September, so there is no noticeable damage this time. 

Unfortunately, when Adam straightens back up, the love of his life is gone.

He hurries back the way he'd came trying to spot the cutie in the glasses and while he can’t find him, he does wind up staring straight at the complete signage on the building wrap.

"Oh shiiiit."

 

_X_

 

Eric will never get used to the cold. It's mid-morning and already over 40 degrees, but still he shivers as a somber-faced Adam drags them all out of the shop to see... something.

"Oh."

The sign is made up of several banners strung together, the letters at least ten feet tall. It makes Eric feel impossibly small. Adam puts an arm around him from one side and Larissa gives him a companionable nudge from the other.

"Sorry, Bits," she murmurs, both hands shoved in her coat pockets.

"No, no. It's fine. It might even be a good thing. I'm sure... I'm sure it will be fine." Eric's never felt less sure of anything in his life, but he has to think of his team, his family.

_ Coming soon to your neighborhood, just around the corner. _

**ACE BOOKS _  
_**

 

_X_

 

"I don't know where these big box stores get off. They're all about the bottom line. Where's their human decency? They just don't care how many little guys they crush on the way to the bank."

Eric cringes as he stirs his meatballs into the sauce. Jack doesn't tend to talk at length but when he gets on a roll about the oppression of honest workers he can become rather righteous. In their home - or Eric's rather, (Jack has an apartment in Greenwich that he only sees a couple of nights a week) it's usually Eric who fills the silences. Jack never minds. He always says he likes Eric's voice.

"As much as I enjoy your indignance on my behalf, could we maybe not talk about me being crushed? I'm struggling to hang onto my optimism as it is." He winces, wondering how many people rely on him to be bubbly at all times.

Jack looks up from the old camera he's fiddling with at the table where Eric will want to serve food soon. His stern expression folds.

"Oh, Eric. I didn't mean- I guess I was just writing an article out loud. You're going to be okay. Your shop and the ones like it are the backbone of what makes New York fascinating, to locals and tourists both." He offers one of his devastatingly handsome shy smiles and Eric's frustration melts. 

"Really? Do you find my shop fascinating, Canuck?" He smirks at Jack and turns off the stove so he can pad over to his boyfriend. Jack pats his knee and Eric sits, smiling wider still as warm arms encircle him. Eric picks at the frayed hem of Jack's hoodie, where he's shoved his thumb through a hole and caused it to stretch. He likes this Jack, his Jack, a lot better than the one that leaves his apartment each morning to take on New York. Jack Zimmermann, the important photo journalist from Montreal, is a fighter with a sharp tongue and an all-seeing lens who dresses in sharp suits that cost more than the store's weekly takings. Eric's Jack is so much softer, but he doesn't see nearly enough of that version as he'd like.

"Sure do, Georgia. Or are we pretending like your mama you've been a yankee all your life?" Jack's self-satisfied little smile is enough to keep Eric's pang of yearning for his mother at bay.

"I'm a good Southern boy, mister Zimmermann, and don't you forget it." Eric reaches out and pokes at the camera on the table. "Is this new?"

Jack picks the camera, a 9mm, back up and turns in reverently in his hands. 

"New in that it's old. It’s a Leica M4, this one’s about, 1970? Isn’t it beautiful?” He offers it out to Eric, who hesitates. 

“I sure hope it didn’t  _ cost _ nineteen seventy,” he muses as he turns it over in his hand. He ignores Jack’s faint blush. He does not want to know. 

“This looks familiar. Where have I seen this before?” He presses a kiss to the side of Jack’s head before getting up from his lap and going over to the cute vintage sideboard by the kitchen entrance. He flips open one of the cupboard doors and gestures triumphantly to the exact same camera sitting next to a box of lenses. Jack at least has the good sense to look embarrassed. 

“Well now,  _ that’s _ a 1973. It’s a completely different version. I promise.” 

Eric smiles softly but it gives him a small ache. “Well, I can’t lecture you. It’s your money, you big star. Buy as many hipster cameras as you want, sweetie.” He closes the sideboard and returns to the kitchen to serve up their dinner. He’s putting the last of their meatballs onto the plates when Jack appears in the doorway, hands in his pockets and looking sheepish. 

“Eric, you know if anything ever happened with the store, minor or otherwise, I’d help you out. I’ve got your back. You know that, right?” 

Eric sighs, warmed through, and holds a plate out to Jack until he takes his hands out of his pockets and takes the plate. He hops up on his toes to kiss Jack’s cheek. 

“I know, darling. I know. But it won’t come to that, because the store is good and we’re good and everything’s just… good.” 

 

_X_

 

Later that night, once Jack’s asleep and snoring curled around Eric’s thighs while he’s sitting up to read, Eric slips out his phone and logs into his other account in the browser. It takes him a while to tap out an email with two thumbs, but he can’t sleep and it feels cathartic to share his worries to someone who can’t look disappointed by his failure to remain enthusiastic. 

 

_ From:  _ __ ShopBoy <shopboy@pleasemail.com>  
To:  __ NY704 <ny704@pleasemail.com>  
Subject: Itty

_ While you may like to picture me being some Hollywood hotshot or hometown hero, I live a small life. It’s not unimportant, it’s not lonely, but it is small. I followed in the footsteps of my mother, someone I hold so dear and miss very much, but sometimes I wonder. If she was still here, would I have chosen this? I have made my life my own in small ways, but in most aspects I think I might just be warming the bench, waiting for a tag team that’s simply not coming. I would never have these thoughts for anyone else in a similar life, but I see contentment in others that I don’t feel myself. I suppose the question is, if I were brave, how different would I be?  _

_ I don’t really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. So goodnight, dear void.  _

 

He presses send and sits still for a few minutes, staring at the light breaking around the edges of his black out curtains. With the universe not providing his cosmic answer, he sighs wistfully before burrowing down into the covers and drifts off to sleep with the muffled sounds of the city and a gentle snoring against his chest to keep him safe.


	3. The Truth is What You Make It

“No, D come on. I’m sure it wasn’t that bad … Of course I think you’re a good writer. You’re a great writer. The best poet since Keats … Well I don’t know. What poet DO you like? … Okay, you’re the best poet since Okigbo. … Yes I know you left the book on my desk. Babe, come on, with the store opening? I’ve been busy, but I’m sure it’s good. … ‘Cause you picked it. Derek- Oh, they’re here. I’ll see you tonight, okay? Love you. … Derek?”

Kent looks down at his phone with a sigh. This is why he has a policy of not calling Derek during the day. He’s so bad at ‘phone’ and he always ends up upsetting him. If only Derek had been able to wait to tell him about his follow up meeting with his boss about potentially publishing his work. The pitch had gone so well that it seemed like it was in the bag, but by the sounds of it, there have been complications.

He tries to put it out of his mind as he plasters on a smile and drops to a crouch to hold out his arms.

“Who missed me?!”

A second later and he’s knocked onto his ass with the force of two children colliding with him at full speed. “Oof, fuck.”

“Language, Kenny.” Kent looks down at the cannonballs sitting on his chest and sticks his tongue out at Tina. She giggles and tries to close his mouth by pressing on his chin. He has to sit up quickly and winds up giggling too.

“You kids are crazy. Now. Are you ready to go on the boat?” He grins down at Tina and Ace, expecting excitement and instead earning shouts of ‘nooo’.

“But you love the boat! What could be more fun than… Okay never mind, I get it. What do you guys want to do?”

 

_X_

 

As their family enjoys a lovely get together for Día de los Muertos each year, come Thanksgiving they tend to be celebrated-out come Thanksgiving. There’s never been a single hand print turkey displayed in Mariana’s house. It’s easy enough for her to skip it, but Kent remembers how weird it was bringing home artwork from school for a holiday that would not really be celebrated. This is likely why it’s so easy for the kids to goad Kent into taking them to the little Thanksgiving Fest in the village each year. Kenny is a pushover.

This year, the street fair seems less impressive than he remembers. There’s a lot of straw and pumpkins and the occasional gourd for effect, but generally everything’s a bit subdued.

The kids still love it though. He is forced into several games of bean bag toss and to test his strength with a mallet and plate. He hams it up and makes sure to lose at everything for their amusement. He buys them ice creams and gets their faces painted,and getting talked into a particularly dashing set of whiskers and a cat nose, while Tina and Ace sport matching moustaches.

He’s actually having a great time, finding that their enthusiasm raises his opinion of the waning festivities.

"Aren't these games supposed to be rigged? I'm sure the whole point of these carnival games is that they're rigged, so that kids can have fun competing for the prizes but they can't win so then parents aren't forced to carry home a four foot gorilla. Isn't that a thing?" Kent knows he's essentially planning his next email to ShopBoy out loud. He likes to think of witty things to say in order to keep up with all the cute little stories he gets from his mystery man. It's gotten to the point where he speaks almost entirely in anecdotes and while it get him odd looks from adults, he's found that the kids enjoy it.

"Or maybe they are rigged," Tina suggests, licking her ice cream as they finally wander away from the street fair some they’ve spent two hours at in search for proper food. Kent always spoils their appetites with desserts.

"But you won. How can it be rigged if I am currently carrying your prize?" He waggles the heavy plastic bag at her. The water inside it sloshes and the prize, an outrageously perfect little goldfish, startles inside it.

"Don't hurt the fish!" Ace gasps, lunging for the bag and Kent has to hold it high out of reach. They've been through this: Ace gets distracted and puts things down. Kent's already gone on two separate searches today when Ace left behind a glove and a shoe. They found the shoe, but they're going to have to find a replacement pair of gloves before Ace gets returned to his mother.

"I'm not, I'm not. Besides, you know it's going to be me stuck with the fish. Kitt's going to take one look at it and decide that he's lunch. Why isn't it rigged, Tina?" They always get off track when they talk. Kent is as bad as they are.

"Maybe it's rigged to make parents think that they can't win, but actually they can. So when a good kid like me gets a turn, we get the prize we deserve and our parents have to let us keep it when normally we'd never get cool stuff, like a goldfish! Who we need to name." Tina nods decisively and jumps over a puddle, somehow managing to keep her ice cream in the cone even as she holds her arms out wide for balance.

Kent watches her for the next block. Her dark hair is still perfect in its ribbon and she looks as if she just stepped outside a moment ago. For a little kid, she always manages to look more put together than the people around her. If Kent didn't know she suffered from nightmares and could throw a tantrum that could level a city block, he might have believed that nothing could ever rattle this child, or mess up her hair.

Behind her, Kent and Ace walk together, their blond and brown hair respectively in matching states of disarray. There is a reason Kent usually wears hats.

It isn't until Tina stops at a corner and turns to face him that he realises they've been speaking to him and he hasn't been listening.

"Sorry, what?"

Tina huffs.

"I saaaaaid that we need a name for the fish! And you should buy another fish. So that he isn't lonely."

"You mean so Kitt has something for dessert too?"

"KENNY!"

He winces. They've both shouted at him and now Ace is looking quite upset. Kent forgets to think before he speaks a lot of the time and while Tina seems to just ignore him most of the time (a family trait, he's sure), Ace is only four. Of course he's upset at the thought of their new fish being eaten under Kenny's incompetent supervision. Ace's face is scrunched up and his moustachioed upper lip is tightened into a pencil thin line.

Kent throws what's left of his cone in the nearest trash can, shifts the knot of the fish bag to hook between his fingers, then scoops Ace up onto his hip.

"Hey buddy, I'm sorry. It's okay. I won't let anyone hurt your fish. Kenny's just not funny, okay? What do you want to do? Should we go back to the boat so you can have a sleep or do you want to hold out until we've had some lunch? Anything you want, okay, bud?" He tries a smile for Ace and nudges his forehead against Ace's cowlick. He pulls back a bit and waits. Sometimes Ace needs his time to think. Kent's been working on being patient for him.

Ace continues to think, looking around the area, and Tina huffs on occasion, sounding remarkably like Kent's grandmother. Eventually, he throws out his hand and points down the street.

"I wanna go to the castle!" They all look and Tina forgoes her impatience to jump up and down on the balls of her feet, heels clacking.

"Yes! Let's go see the prince!"

At the end of the street there is a sandwich board sitting outside a shop. It's not the average chalkboard though it might have been once. The edges of the sign are painted to look like an ivory-covered castle and a turret has been added to the top. The sign has been written in multiple colours of chalkboard paint so that it advertises (in pink, green and blue) in loopy handwriting:

_The Fairytale Prince_   
_will be reading at_   
_1:30 today_   
_Bring your imaginations!_

There are a number of love hearts at the end and it's all sickeningly sweet. It gives Kent an odd sense of foreboding that he cannot place until they have reached the front of the store.

"Ah."

Although Kent doesn't generally feel any discomfort in what he has to do for the sake of business, he is not immune to the fact that it is decidedly weird to bring the kids to enjoy _The Shop Around the Corner_ when just last week he was considering the advantages of sending them under.

All the same, he checks his watch.

"Are we in time? Yes, okay, let's go!" Tina has to open the door for them and they hurry inside into the warmth of the store.

Although objectively he knows he should be doing some recon for what is needed in his new store, Kent gets distracted and forgets this pretty much instantly. The store is bright and pretty with twinkly lights hung around the ceiling and it seems to be covered in artwork. In every available inch of flat space that is not already taken up with book displays there are finger paintings, colouring pages and yes, even handprint turkeys, that are all proudly on show. Some of them are significantly better than others and Kent has no doubt that members of staff have participated. He's fairly sure the giant bespectacled man currently carrying two children on his back as he exaggerated loafs through the store is an employee, though he's got no clue why the guy didn't take the obvious opportunity of being a linebacker instead. Kent watches them from the doorway for a beat while Tina runs off to join the large group of children sitting on the carpet facing a small throne. It is in fact a throne, painted in a similar style to the castle sign outside. There's a definite sense of anticipation in the room.

When Ace starts to wiggle down Kent's hip and towards the floor he lets him down and finally takes the time to actually investigate the stock. Sure, the place is colourful, but is there substance?

Unfortunately, as it turns out, there is.

Kent gets lost in his head while he's searching the shelves. Most children's sections of stores are a jumble. It's lucky if things are even vaguely in alphabetical order by author but generally there are only three sections you can expect to see - children, teen and non-fiction. Although there is a giant rack of shelves in the middle of the store that seems to feature what they feel is the best of everything, the rest of the store is meticulous in its subsections (with bright and bubbly signs specifying each). He browses the section recommended for five to eight year olds for a while, then finds himself loading up his arms with picture books and easy reads from the appropriately kaleidoscopic 'PRIDE!' shelf. Although he pretends he's shopping for the kids, really he knows most of these will end up on his shelf at home and at least two of these are going into Chris’ Christmas gift.

Apart from the surprisingly full pride shelf, there are sections devoted to art, music, sports and self esteem that are fleshed out with fiction that relates to the topic. He feels a twinge and it is a mixture of the odd new emotion (it's guilt, he knows) but the roar of laughter from the group by the throne that draws him out of his head.

He has eight books held in his arms as he turns back to the storytime area and sees that not only has the fairytale prince arrived, but he has started his story. The prince in question is a small man with a youthful face and a warm smile. Perched on top of golden hair that outshines Kent's own by megawatts is a crown, also painted. Kent is starting to work out that there is an art enthusiast somewhere in the folds of this business’ tapestry that is responsible for all this colour. The man is beaming down at the children, waiting patiently for them to settle down from their giggle fit.

"Are we ready? Adventures await. There's nothing to stop us, we have a clean slate."

He holds his chosen book out again with a flourish, flexing an arm that Kent notes is oddly toned. At second glance, he sees that though the man is undeniably smaller than himself, he carries himself with a strength perhaps he hadn't expected. His voice is also a touch deeper than he might have first thought and softened with a hint of a Southern accent. Unlike the bigger employee, this man doesn’t look like belongs anywhere else but right there, looking silly and ravishingly beautiful in his silver crown.

Kent turns away from the man and the intruding unethical thought of poaching him from the store and turns his focus to the first editions locked away on the back wall. He gets into conversation with a strange man called Dex who insists on putting the fish bag under the counter so that it can rest before they begin to haggle over prices.

Kent knows the stack of books is really getting out of hand when ten minutes after the story ends he has to rise onto his toes to see over it at the sound of Tina's voice nearby.

"Oh, my daddy will get me all the books I want. He's a pushover." Tina seems unaffected by the concerned look her new friend shoots her. She's talking to the fairytale prince, though he has since removed his crown, and he's spotted Kent's face sticking up above his outrageous purchases. Kent can understand the confusion on the man's face. With whiskers painted on his cheeks, Kent _does_ look exactly like a pushover.

"Oh! Well I'm sure he's just very kind. You shouldn't say that about your daddy," the man says, shooting Kent a sympathetic glance. God, if his voice got any more like honey...

Kent breaks away from Dex to go stand by Tina, attempting to ruffle her hair though he fails to displace it.

"Oh, that's not my daddy. That's my Godson."

If Kent had considered the confused look cute, it was nothing compared to the surprise that shot the man's brows skyward. Very. Cute.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart but I don't see how he could be-"

Kent cuts in, less charmed by the man now. He's never been impressed by people who say no to his kids.

"It's true. Tina graciously decided to step into the role of my fairy godmother when she was three. Isn't that right?" He gives a decisive nod, standing by their odd dynamic because he knows how important it is to her.

"Yeah!" Tina exclaims, turning quickly to point to Ace, who is seriously colouring at one of the small tables that have been pulled out from the corner. "And Ace is-"

"No, wait, let me guess!" The man cuts in with a grin. He's playing along now and it makes Kent feel better. "Is he... Your uncle? Your... Grandfather? No is he your eighth cousin once removed by earthquake with three divorces between you?" Kent sees him throw a wink Ace's way and it causes him to burst into giggles and drop his pencils.

"Nooooo!" He's laughing. Kent loves it when Ace laughs. "I'm his brother!" The incessant giggling finally draws a small laugh from Kent too. He straightens when the attention of all three is directed back at him.

He clears his throat.

"Christina is my aunt's daughter and part-time fairy godmother, while Alejandro is my mother's son. We are... New Yorkers." He shoots a smile usually reserved for tough clients at the man, with the intention of charming, and he watches with glee as he finally relaxes.

A hand is held out for him to shake.

"I'm Eric Bittle. Welcome to my store. It's nice to meet you and your family."

"Kent P- Just call me Kenny." Kent forces a smile. The owner. God damn it.

Eric smiles wider, but when Kent doesn't say anymore he turns back to Tina to continue their serious discussion on the value of good character names in stories. Tina has apparently vetoed a book because the protagonist is called Hattie.

Kent, forgetting about his conversation with Dex, goes to sit by Ace. Kent is not a particularly tall man, but on the tiny stool his knees are forced to rest up by his chin. There's no way they're fitting under the table.

"How's it going, sweetheart? Wooing the crowds with your artistry there?"

Ace's colouring is verging on abstract art, but Kent's still definitely going to stick it on his fridge later. He thinks potentially it's a drawing of the fish, or perhaps a rocketship. At the top of the page someone with much neater handwriting than his own has printed 'ACE' for him. Ace is still busy working and Kent ruffles his messy hair.

"Who wrote your name for you? Did you make a friend?" He knew, objectively, that it would have been the staff but it has him feeling hesitant knowing that his baby brother has been interacting with grown ups without him noticing.

Ace looks at the blue print on the page and smiles.

"Yeah! The prince told me how to spell my name! A-C-E!"

Kent gasps, throwing a hand over his heart and swooning comically the whole six inches to the floor.

"Wow! You can spell your name! What about... Alejandro? Can you spell that?"

"A-C-E!" Ace is grinning. He knows he's cute.

"What about Kenny? Can you spell Kenny?"

"A-C-E!" Ace giggles. Kent gives up and drags himself to his feet.

"Alright, you little rugrat. We should get going. Did you see anything you like?"

Ace gives this some thought, then picks up his artwork and plasters himself to Kent's leg. He all but melts.

"What a little charmer. Bless him." It's Eric. Kent looks to him and smiles helplessly. He pats Ace's head and drags him one exaggerated step at a time over to the counter, where both Eric and Dex are waiting. Dex is scowling. He's holding the fish and still has the giant stack next to him.

"It's his world, we're all just living in it. I think we'll just get these today." Kent pushes his stack of picture books from his earlier trawl forward and adds the choices Tina suddenly appears with to the stack.

While Eric rings up their items, Dex pushes the fish back into Kent's hands. He holds the bag up to the light to inspect the fish. It doesn't seem impressed with the height.

"Kenny! We should call him Eric! After the prince!" Ace is tugging on Kent's shirt hem. Kent is wishing he hadn't pushed for his brother to have confidence. He can feel the warmth creeping into his cheeks and is surprised to see a similar flush on the bookseller.

"Well that's so sweet, but wouldn't you rather name it something nicer? Eric's such a boring name for a fish." Eric’s clutching at his chest and staring at Ace like he's the sweetest thing since dippin' dots. He is that sweet though and Kent can attest to it.

"Ch'yeah," Dex snorts, smirking at Kent in a way that simply cannot be good. "And for a person. There's a reason we all call him Bitty."

After that and two sweet and terrible children chanting "BITTY THE FISH! BITTY THE FISH!" there is no opportunity to shoot down the name. And thus, Kent has to herd two moustachioed children, a giant bag of books, a balloon that has appeared from somewhere, and Bitty the fish, out into the cool fall breeze. He can see Eric - Bitty - laughing at him through the window with his staff and Kent feels a pang of yearning that he hasn't encountered at home in some time.

 

_X_

 

From: ShopBoy <shopboy@pleasemail.com>  
To: NY704 <ny704@pleasemail.com>  
Subject: Rugrats

_I don't think I will ever have children. It's not that I dislike them, that's not true at all, but I think having reached this age without even the glimmer of a yearning for them has given me an answer without my ever taking the time to think about it. Of course, there's no risk of accidentally having one, though if through some miracle that did occur I certainly wouldn't put the poor thing on craigslist, but I just don't think it's in the cards for me._

_The people I love most all call me the mom-friend and act like it's just a matter of time before I'm flying off to some distant land to adopt myself a tiny adorable hockey team, but I've never once dreamed of that future. My friends are great and the children I know are lovely, but I will keep them as acquaintances, perhaps forever._

_I've never told anyone that. It's funny the things you can share when you don't have to look anybody in the eye to do it. I trust you. Is that strange?_

 

_X_

 

Eric elbows Jack in the side as he spots his boyfriend slumping once more. He doesn't understand why he ever comes to these things if he dislikes them so much. Eric would go without him, but then, the invitations always come to them as a pair. Even the casual events, like this one, the after party for some columnist who has finally crossed the gap from weekly section to bound anthology, had been on the insistence that they both attend. "Oh, Jack, you absolutely must bring your adorable little partner. He's the one with the bookshop, yes?" Jack had done a fabulous impersonation of the host when he'd relayed this to Eric, in a manner so out of character in its jubilance that he'd had Eric in stitches.

He smiles at the memory, earning a curious look from Jack. His irritation is forgotten and he hops up to kiss him on the cheek.

"I'm going to get a drink. Try to act like you want to be here, pumpkin. Give it an hour then we can go."

He breaks away before he can become annoyed again by Jack's reluctance to socialise with his own colleagues and heads up to the little bar. The party is in an apartment on the East Side and it's uncomfortable in its lavish decor. The bartender is supposed to look dapper, he's sure, but he rather looks more like a barkeep from some Western with his red vest and black bowtie. Eric likes to think that his own bowtie is not nearly as embarrassing as this poor man's uniform. He gives him an encouraging smile.

"Hi! Could I get a lime and soda, please? I'm driving." He's not, actually. He and Jack came in an Uber, but neither of them drink at parties and he never wants Jack to feel awkward about it. 

As his drink is being prepared he hears a familiar voice from several people over along the bar space.

"Yeah, vodka soda. Thanks."

The woman standing to Eric's right turns away with her whiskey and Eric sees him. _Just call me Kenny_. He can't pretend he hasn't been thinking about the charming man with the odd family dynamic and adorable painted-on whiskers. It was nice to see him then and it's nice to see him now. He hadn't realised he was connected to the industry. Although perhaps he isn't. Perhaps he's just a friend of the dull writer who has tried to spin an agony aunt position into a profit.

Eric puts on a bright grin and shuffles over to stand closer.

"Fancy seeing you here!" He turns to face Kenny and waits for a greeting in turn.

Kenny appears shocked for a moment, then he calms. The smile Eric gets is tight and the nod is perfunctory at best.

"Hello," he says, only to take his drink and turn away. "Nice to see you, Bitty," he adds although he's no longer facing Eric.

Well then. He feels quite deflated as he takes his glass and thanks the old-timey bartender. He’s soon embarrassed, wondering if it had seemed flirty. Of course he wasn't flirting, not with a stranger at a party with his partner just fifteen feet away. Internet-based transgressions aside he is a devoted and genuinely good person, or so he feels at least.

He starts to make his way back to Jack near the entrance only to be stopped by a hand on his arm. He tenses, instinctively, then sees that it's just Mrs Bird, a kind woman who he remembers used to visit the shop back when his mother had just opened it. The jewels she wears tonight probably cost more than his mother had paid for the store. He's starting to form pleasantries in his mind when she speaks.

"I cannot _believe_ who you were just speaking to. My word, Eric."

"Who?" He frowns, looking back over his shoulder at the bartender. Was it a gag, maybe? Was he not supposed to get drinks from there?

" _Kent Parson_. From Ace Books."

 _Kenny_. Fuck. The colour must drain from his face as Mrs Bird puts an arm around him and starts leading him smartly across the room, away from the bar.

"You didn't know? He's the one setting up the store near yours! They've already put a number of independents out of business out West. They're trying to take back the brick and mortars, like the old days. The nerve he has to show his face here. Now, where did your man go? Well, never mind. Be sure to have some cake, dear."

Mrs Bird stops him by the coat rack and gives his arm a pat. She smiles, then turns to greet another guest with fake exuberance.

Eric stands, sticken, for several minutes before he manages to battle down the betrayal and turn it more appropriately into anger. He has to do a loop of the room before he spies Kenny - Kent Parson - standing by himself at the dessert table. Eric can see that he seems purposefully aloof, but he's not surprised now that there's no one eager to talk to him.

He stalks over and comes to stop a step to Kent's right. The anger boils up again and he's just opened his mouth to speak when there's a shriek of laughter from across the room. At his side, Kent snorts.

"I'll have what she's having." He nudges Eric and puts down his plate of petit fours. Eric's shocked by the familiarity of it and stays silent, mouth still hanging okay.

"Get it, I'll have what she's-" Kent stops short when his casual gaze finally settles on Eric's face. He looks momentarily shamed, then he smiles again, that tight thing with no warmth that he'd only seen for the first time by the bar. Eric steels him.

"You're from Ace Books?" It isn't meant to be a question. It's _meant_ to be an accusation but that damn feeling of betrayal that one of his customers, someone with whom he had shared his best banter, turned out to be a spy. Kent does not appear ruffled any longer. He shrugs, appearing bored.

"A-C-E. Bit unkind of my mother, I felt, to name the company after her favourite son and leave the older one in charge of it." His smile at the poorly formed joke is all teeth. Eric hates it.

"I don't understand wh-"

"Why I was there? Or why I actually bought anything? Look, Eric, your store is cute. I was spending the day with Tina and Ace and you were doing your book reading thing, so we went in. I bought things because I have money and the kids like me more when I buy them stuff. It's just how our relationship works. I don't want you reading anything into it. If it helps you, I promise to never go back. I don't need to." He isn't smiling now. Eric has no idea if that's better or worse, so he swallows and tries to stay calm.

"Because you got what you needed? A small stack of books and a lot of ideas? Hints on how the home grown businesses do it? How the real people of the West Side like things?"

Eric squares his shoulders and almost smiles. Kent's eyes widen, only to squint down into an expression that is simply mean.

"Hey, look, buddy. I'm as New York as they come. I mighta spent a couple years out in the desert but I know the people of this city. They're greedy and they're cheap. They want to visit your quaint little store for recommendations and the toothache-inducing fairytale prince to entertain their children and then they'll turn right around and make their purchases with me. Don't think you're fooling anyone with that attitude, sweetheart. I can hear that twang and I know a lost little Southern boy when I see one. I think there's a saying that your hick sensibilities might appreciate. Something about the horse you rode in on?"

Eric gasps, his stomach dropping out from under him with the shame and the rage.

Kent laughs.

"Yeah. It figures you would know it. Maybe you can take that piece of advice and move your inconsequential little life somewhere it might be appreciated. Tate City, maybe."

"You bastard," Eric hisses and he doesn't care if Kent has a few inches on him. He can take the asshole and he intends to. He's gotten one step towards Kent, up in his space and glaring, but he only has the one breath to enjoy the fact that fear has taken over that stupid smirk, before a heavy hand lands on his shoulder and pulls him up short.

"Eric? Is everything okay?" Jack's voice is quiet but firm. Although one might usually appreciate having someone like Jack on their side in a confrontation, Eric knows he's being tempered. He doesn't deflate but he does drop his hand away from Kent's shirt to sit in a fist by his hip. Jack isn't going to help him fight this jerk, but he is clearly there to stop them from getting thrown out. It only irritates him more than Kent seems to relax when he looks at him.

"Kent Parson," he says, holding out his hand. When Jack doesn't move, Eric chances a glance at his face. Jack's expression is so cold it makes Eric shiver. He remembers it well. When they'd first met, Jack had been so angry to have been transferred from Canada that the glare had been his default expression. He hadn't directed it at Eric more than once, he's happy to say.

Looking back at Kent, the man seems shorter than he had mere moments ago. While Jack isn't doing anything, he has the man suitably quailed. For all that they're being visibly civil, they have started to attract attention. Eric can see eyes flicking to them from various points in the room, although the comfortable murmur of the party continues around them.

"I can see that," Jack replies once he's suitably sized Kent up. "Indentured servant to the capitalist machine. Face of big business, crushing the underdog one low quality reprint at a time. Do you use all those unfiled tax returns as a pillow or do you have some other trick to sleeping at night?”

Before Kent can reply, his lips twisted into an ugly sneer, a new voice cuts in.

"Oh, dude. Valerian is great. Seriously. I take it before bed and I sleep so soundly you'd think our place was on the edge of Central Park and not facing the Hudson.”

The attractive man who approaches them seems unaware of the three confused stares he's receiving. He tucks himself into Kent's side and exudes a relaxed air. Eric notes his clothing is more casual, a grey sweater instead of the button downs the rest of the men have elected, but there's something about his quiet confidence and handsome face that makes Kent and his suit (likely worth more than the store's last takings) look rather gaudy just by comparison.

The new man shines a smile on Jack and holds out his hand.

"You're Jack Zimmermann, right? I'm Derek Nurse. Man, I loved your piece on the disparity in the public schools system throughout the boroughs."

Eric watches as Jack considers the hand offered to him and after a brief pause, this time he takes it. They shake and when they break apart Jack's hand comes to rest on Eric's waist. They might not be as cuddled up as Derek and Kent, but Eric feels great pride knowing that he and Jack have always been a cute couple. The outside world never needs to know about their issues when they look so perfect and connected standing side by side.

"Um, thank you. That's nice of you to say," Jack coughs. He looks wrong-footed now but Derek is either oblivious to it or is barrelling through the awkwardness for the sake of their evening.

"I'm not just saying it though. It was awesome. That triptych at the end of the three children going to their vastly different schools where by the back of their heads they all look the same but you can see how they're going to change? It was inspired. I nearly cried."

Eric's posture begins to slump as he listens. Jack's ego is not something that comes out to play very often, but he does work harder than anyone Eric has ever known. He tends to puff up under honest praise. He wants the work to be noticed, rather than his name. Eric's heard hundreds of rants on the topic.

He looks to the dessert table behind Kent with some yearning. If he's going to have to listen to this then there might as least be cake.

Kent sees this and with a smirk reaches back to pick up a brownie off the plate he’d abandoned earlier. He could not look more smug as he bites into it. Eric sees that he’s actually stacked all the remaining brownies onto his plate. Bastard.

“I made those. You might as well leave some for the others,” he tells Kent, quieter than Derek and Jack’s more polite and audible conversation. Kent’s smugness drops a level and he shrugs, conceding.

“Can’t do that. They’re too good. You may have missed your calling.”

With Jack’s arm still resting on his waist, fingers pressing in at odd intervals, his own little signal ( _I’m here. I’m with you_.), he can’t smoosh a brownie in Kent’s face like he wants. He holds his tongue and waits out the encounter. He knows he’s going to have to use Jack’s own rule and make them tap out within the hour. It will be the first time he uses it himself.


	4. The Corporate Cafe

__ From: ShopBoy <shopboy@pleasemail.com>  
To: NY704 <ny704@pleasemail.com>  
Subject: Stairs and Stares 

_ Someone dear to me likes to say that I struggle with staircase wit. Well actually he calls it l’esprit de l’escalier and he looks so smug when he says it. Staircase wit would actually be a gift at this point. It’s like this. You have just been given a thorough dressing down by someone so rude they don’t deserve to tie your shoelaces (an important job in some professions, but to be looked down upon by the uppercrusties of New York) and it is only once you are on the stairs on your way out that you think of that perfect witty and cruel thing you should have said back. _

_ I wish I had that.  _

_ I can never come up with my parting shot. I think evil things, but I would never tell anyone to burn in hell to their face. It’s one of those thoughts that flicks through the mind but I’ve heard it enough to know I’d never wish to make anyone feel the way I do when it’s said. Having chosen not to utterly destroy the person in front of me (I’m assuming everyone is as sensitive as myself for sake of sanity), I find myself without words. What can I say to have the desired effect? For example, what would I say to a social snob who has just belittled my entire existence?  _

_ Perhaps you are better at this than me. As it happens, I said nothing. On the stairs, I could think of nothing. I was up all night thinking about it and … nothing. I feel like I would sleep much better if I had the words to solve my problems in the moment. _

 

__ From: NY704 <ny704@pleasemail.com>  
To: ShopBoy <shopboy@pleasemail.com>  
Subject: Sweetness 

_ I think you overrate the ability to cause pain. I admire that you lack it. One thing I’ve learnt about you in all the time we’ve shared nothing is that you have a kindness I could only dream of possessing. I am better at this, you’re right, but I wish I wasn’t. _

_ The catch with being able to destroy someone to exactly the level you intend in the moment when you mean it with all your might is that it becomes less true the second you walk away. You can’t fix anything by telling someone ‘Oh, the moment has passed, I don’t mean what I said anymore’. What good is that? It’s weakness. A weakness you can never present because the more vitrole you put out the less kindness others afford you.  _

_ And while you may think that the assholes (pardon my french) who have put you down have won, there is no winning in this scenario. You are losing sleep, my sweet shopboy, for the things others say to you, while I too am staying up feeling sick with the things I have said to others. _

_ Maybe there is a prescription for this. Maybe there isn’t. I think we’re all losing sleep and maybe if the world had more people like you in it, we would all finally catch a break and some shut eye. _

 

_X_ 

 

Ace Books has their launch party on a Friday and has its grand opening the next day. By the time they close at 9pm, Kent is hopped up on free triple shot mochas. They had expected a big turn out but Kent really hadn’t believed it until he’d seen it. Their store, his store, had been packed from opening til after lunch, with another burst of activity after four o’clock. It’s been a staggering turn out and he’s positive he’s made a lot of money today. 

He’s too wired to go home, too excited. He sees Chris milling about by their opening display, the celebration of the great authors of New York, and rushes over to tackle him in a bear hug from behind.

“We did it we did it we did it!” He chants it, face smooshed into Chris’ shirt while his friend tries to wiggle away before ultimately giving up. He manhandles Kent into circling him so they can hug face to face.

“We did!” He agrees and ruffles Kent’s hair with both hands until it stands on ends. He grins at Kent and Kent feels his stomach swoop. He loves seeing Chris this happy.

“Okay, well, I’m taking the credit but we both know you did it. This store is yours, C. You made it this awesome. Can you believe we didn’t have one single protester? And you were worried what the neighbourhood would think of us. They love us! They love you.” 

Kent grins as he watches the pink come to Chris’ cheeks. He pats the warm skin while it’s still this bright and he can bask in the glow of his best friend’s happiness. 

“It has nothing to do with me,” Chris insists and gives Kent’s hair one last swipe. “How much coffee have you had? You’re gonna climb the walls soon and as great as you are I don’t love you enough to try to bat you down off the roof Kong-style when it’s this cold.”

Kent’s feeling silly and light and perfect so he makes a few monkey noises and scratches at his armpit. He giggles.

“Too much. I’m going to be up all night. You want to go out? We could hit the town, show New York that the dynamic duo is here, queer and kicking ass? Doesn’t that sound fun, babe?” He offers his hand, his other flung out behind him as he tries to be as dramatic as possible. He enjoys making Chris laugh and he’s surprised when he doesn’t. Chris actually looks hurt for a second, before he smiles again, though this time it’s softer. 

“No. I’m going home. You should be getting back to Derek. He told me he’s waiting up for you after your big day. Go tell him all about it, okay? Maybe next week we can paint the town red, the three of us.”

Kent pouts at Chris and crosses his arms. 

“Derek will be asleep and you know it. He never stays up late anymore. He’s like you. Plus he’s obsessed with this thing called ‘hyoo-gar’ right now so he’s made the bed too comfortable and he keeps falling asleep with a book on his face. Come onnnn, C! Just one drink?” 

He knows he’s already lost but he still grabs at Chris’ sleeve and whines when Chris starts heading for the door.

“Hygge.” 

Kent tilts his head, still holding onto Chris’ arm although it’s outstretched now.

“Bless you?”

“Hygge,” Chris replies with a small huff of breath. It’s the closest he gets to sighing. So positive. “It’s what Nursey’s reading about lately. It’s Scandinavian and it’s all about enjoying your precious time at home. Maybe you should think about why it’s so important to him.”

Chris gently removes Kent’s hand from his forearm, pulling his fingers off one at a time. He doesn’t smile.

“Go home, Kent. You had a good day.”

Chris turns to leave and Kent watches until he’s walked clear of the large windows, still trying to parse his meaning.

He doesn’t go home though, not back to his squishy pillows and boyfriend who sleeps like the dead. Instead, he goes to his dark office. He sits on the wrong side of his desk, facing the windows instead of the door so he can look out at the city. He opens up his laptop and smiles.

 

_X_

 

Eric spends the weekend in Montreal with Jack’s parents. Eric doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the money they have, the way they bandy it about with an ease that shows they’ve always had that safety net and are certain they always will. They are kind people and Eric does like them but he’s never felt comfortable in their home. He’s been many times but he's unable to shake the knowledge that while Jack is at home, he’s just a guest. 

It's still a nice weekend and he appreciates that Jack thought the getaway would take his mind off Kent Parson and his mega store opening. He left his laptop at home on purpose but it was an accident to have forgotten his phone charger as well. He took it as a sign though and, while he did borrow Mr Zimmermann’s (Bob’s) cord to recharge, he left his phone off for the weekend. Yet, the whole experience of disconnecting leaves him feeling antsy and bereft, rather than peaceful.     


On the flight back Jack seems soothed and calm, as he always does after their trips. He holds Eric’s hand in both of his own and admires his fingers with a focus that has Eric’s stomach knotting with a guilt he refuses to study.

He checks his email as soon as Jack goes to sleep that night and is immediately glad he didn’t see it earlier as he’d have only felt worse. His NY704 seems jubilant when he talks about the beauty of the skyline. While neither of them ever bother to sign off, this time he has ended on a single question.

_ “Would you like to get coffee sometime?" _

Eric slams the laptop shut. The noise disturbs Jack enough that he mumbles in his sleep and rolls onto Eric’s side of the bed. Eric sneaks his computer back into the living room and gets into bed. He does not sleep.

Monday morning arrives and Eric is still tense on the mattress. He manages to doze off and on to the point that Jack leaves without disturbing him and he wakes up completely alone. The sudden disappointment hits him so hard that he cries, throwing a bit of a tantrum in their bed until the blankets are bunched up on the floor. It just isn’t fair that Jack gets a weekend to unwind and nights of good sleep and getting to rise so early that he doesn’t need to bother with goodbyes, while Eric gets to walk on eggshells around the in-laws, a life of stress and now insomnia.

He leaves the blankets where they are and goes to work with soft grey circles etched under his eyes.

Eric doesn’t want to meet his mystery man. He knows that much. They’ve been so careful to avoid details that meeting face to face would ruin all the whimsy. Eric can’t stand the thought of being disappointed in him. 

It means nothing, he says, but he knows the real truth. 

It means too much.

He goes about his morning with fake smiles and positive slogans. Larissa sits on the counter to study him for the best part of an hour until he calls her out on the fact that she’s avoiding looking at their sales figures. It’s only been a few days, there can’t be any difference, he says.

There is though. They all see it. 

They only get a handful of customers the whole morning. Their regulars come in, grandparents with preschoolers, young women with babies, some single people. They don’t get the same foot traffic and Eric ignores all the people passing the windows with their Ace bags in hand.

It’s quiet enough that he jumps mid-afternoon when Adam drops the stock he’d been shelving, his brain apparently having derailed somewhere between the board books and the ‘feelings’ section. 

“Fuck. Me.” He says, voice carrying across the store and Eric is almost grateful for the lack of young ears present to hear him.

He follows Adam's gaze to the window, where Justin Oluransi is standing, staring sternly at the twinkle lights draped over the front display. He seems to notice that he has an audience and he waves wildly before rushing through the door. Adam doesn’t seem capable of moving and Dex and Larissa are on lunch so Eric goes to greet him.

“Ransom! It’s good to see you!” He embraces his friend and then holds him at arms length to admire him.

“Some day you’ll start modelling. You look great, how have you been?” He’s still got his plastered on smile and he holds onto it even as Justin’s frantic look crumples into one of worry that is so genuine Eric wants to hug him again.

“How am I?! How are you?? Is it okay? Is it awful? I saw that stupid monstrosity down the street and I needed to make sure you were still here. Fuck, Eric.” 

Justin has always been an incredibly kind, if rather anxious man, so his fretting is about to ruin all the emotional treading water that Eric’s been doing all day. He gestures to the shop, empty though it is but warm as ever and tries to mentally plead with Justin to just relax.

“We’re great! Don’t we look great?” He tracks Justin’s gaze as he looks about the store and seems to notice Adam for the first time. He flushes beautifully.

“Yeah. Great.” He looks back to Eric. “But really. Anything I can do to help, okay? We’ll… Protest, or I’ll get everyone I know to do their events with you! My release is in January. Will you still be open in January?” At Eric’s pained look, he continues. “Of course you will. Sorry. It’s okay, Bits. We’ve got your back. It will be okay. I promise.”

Eric shrugs and pats Justin on the shoulder, though he has to reach up quite a way to do it. 

“Of course it will. Like I said, we’re great. Can I help you find anything today? We should get coffee soo-“ He doesn’t mean to cut off so abruptly but the phrasing makes that sick feeling in his stomach return and he shudders.

Justin doesn’t seem to notice. He’s staring back in Adam’s direction again.

“Oh, right. Of course. Coffee. Actually I’ve got to get going, but I’ll text you. Good luck, little B.”

When the bell chimes again to note Justin’s exit, Eric is turned abruptly by Adam’s giant hands. Adam stares down at him with a look so intense he might as well be about to go into battle.

“Bitty. Do you know who that WAS?” He’s being too loud again and Eric winces and pushes Adam’s hands off him. 

“Yeah? Justin Oluransi. He’s a children’s book author I’ve known for a few years. We stock his autobiographical picture books about how he, or actually Ransom, deals with his anxiety in new situations. You made a display of them in September.”

Adam staggers back and Eric rolls his eyes. Adam is dramatic sometimes.

“He’s THAT guy? Fuck, he’s perfect. But no! Bits! He’s that guy I told you about! The one that I saw on the street that time and nearly walked into traffic over!”

Eric puts his hands on his hips as the pieces begin to fit together.

“You mean, the most gorgeous man you’ve ever laid eyes on? The one with cheekbones so sharp they could cut your clothes off? That guy?”

“YES!”

Adam makes an aborted movement towards Eric like he’s about to grab at him again, but common sense wins out.

“Bitty. My boy. My Bee Eff Eff. You’ve got to help me out here. Lean into your cherubic nature and play cupid! My future husband and I are depending on it."

Eric sighs, but he gets out his phone anyway.

  
  


_X_

 

Eric is in the market stocking up on the last few things he’ll need for Thanksgiving (the fake one, Jack likes to remind him) when he sees Kent Parson again. It’s been several weeks since the publication party and he’s mostly trying to pretend that the particular nasty man and his business don’t exist. 

It’s a lot harder to do when he spots the person in question in the cheese section. 

Eric is debating on the values of dipping breads over crackers for his holiday party when he spies "Just call me Kenny" across the divider with an outrageous wheel of cheese under one arm. He only has a moment to consider the lunacy of purchasing a whole wheel (for what? as a gift? is he going to eat it all?) when it occurs to him that he should hide. Rather than face being dressed down again he drops low so his nose grazes the handle of his cart and its questionable cleanness. He grimaces and waddles away with his eyes to the floor. 

As is the way with supermarket encounters, even as Eric tries to mix up his aisles and keep from maintaining a pattern, he keeps spying Kent. He's in the cereal aisle throwing multiple boxes into his basket on top of the cheese. He's in the cleaning supplies humming Christmas carols like an asshole. 

He even winds up behind Eric in the line to check out. 

"Damn," Eric whispers to himself as he turns his head and covers half his face with his hand while he waits for the woman at the register to finish scanning his items. He's still focusing on his task of remaining inconspicuous when he pulls out his money clip, an unnecessary little gift Jack had given him in May that came in handy for quick runs to the store.

"Card only, sir."

"I'm sorry?" Eric raises his head and for the first time acknowledges the woman attempting to keep a smile on her face as she waits. It does not reach her eyes.

"This is a card only line. I'm sorry." She doesn't look sorry and Eric starts to go red he reminds himself that it isn't her fault he didn't read the copious signage of the lane around them.

Someone further back in the line groans and Eric's face is burning as he fumbles with the clip.

"I'm so sorry, um, I don't have my cards with me. I have cash though! I mean, it's the holidays, you could keep the change?" Realistically, he knows this isn't going to fly, but at his own store they can make the odd exception and the customers always appreciate it. He knows he's just become a difficult customer and he can feel the judgement of the other shoppers beating down on his back like hot pokers. 

"I don't have a float, sir. I can't take cash. You'll have to go to another line." 

Eric Bittle does not cry under pressure. He has worked in retail long enough that he refuses to on principal. The problem is, he's carrying the extra pressure of putting together a beautiful Thanksgiving for friends who only bring wine and unenthusiastic boyfriend who is only doing the dishes, he does not have any cards on him, he's being glared at by a half dozen people and he really just wants to go home. His eyes are starting to sting when a gentle hand presses against his lower back.

He whimpers.

He thinks it's security coming to cart him off in cuffs, but this might just be worse than that. Kent Parson has joined him at the counter and he’s giving Eric an encouraging smile, one that he's only seen directed at his bizarre little relatives.

"Bitty."

Kent turns to the cashier who is starting to collect Eric's items back from the bagger.

"Hello. Your name's Mandy?" His eyes flick to her name badge and she stares back at him, confused. Kent holds himself with an air of someone who expects to be recognised but it's obvious Eric is the only person in the store who does. After a beat, she nods.

"Hi, Mandy. Thanks for all the hard work. How about I save you from having to take my friend's items away and let me scan this, okay? Okay."

He produces his wallet and pulls out a card with a grin. The tension in the line behind them dissipates instantly and even though Eric remains mortified, he too is relieved by the change of atmosphere.

"Mister Parson, I couldn't possibly- I can put this stuff back myself I wouldn't make um,  _ Mandy _ do it. It's fine. I'll um, I'll come back another time, okay?" 

He realises these are the things he would have said to Mandy himself if he'd been feeling less rattled. He doesn't want to be indebted to Kent Parson, who no doubt is going to expect something in exchange. His stock, perhaps? His entire store? His innocence? Well, that one left a while ago, but he's sure Kent will want something bad.

Kent smirks at Eric, probably able to read his fear plain as day. 

"Don't worry about it. It's done." He has in fact already tapped his card. Mandy is already shoving his receipt into one of the bags.

"Oh. Um. Thank you so much," he says to her, rather than to Kent. He belatedly realises that he has his money clip still clasped in his hand. The bills are crushed in his nervous fist.

"Right! Um, here. I've got the cash." 

He starts to count it out, head bent low to avoid any looks from the next customer in line who has finally begun to be served.

The hand that had initially rested on his back covers his fingers for a moment in the briefest of touches. Kent's hands are quite large, Eric realises. He stops counting and looks up.

"Don't worry about it. It's the holidays. Happy Thanksgiving, Bitty. Your fish namesake is doing well, by the way." He winks at Eric. His eyes are bright and his skin is clear. How dare he look so well-rested. It takes Eric a moment to reply and Kent is already stepping back.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Mr Parson. For the love of God please rename your fish."

Kent laughs and gives him a little wave before he turns back to join the line. In helping Eric he lost his place and now he has quite the wait ahead of him. Eric tries to feel smug about that fact as he hurries out of the store, but for some reason he just can't seem to manage it.


	5. Save the Shop Around the Corner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My best friend gave me permission to post her own damn good recipe in this chapter, so it's the real deal and feel free to try it if you'd like! Bitty's commentary from it also comes from her helpful hints.

####  **Thanksgiving**

 

Eric’s cheeks hurt. He’s been forcing a smile onto his face every time someone has come into the kitchen for the last four hours. He knows that their friends are just checking in and he also knows that he didn’t really have to spend every moment in the kitchen but he hadn’t been able to stand being asked when the food would be ready, as if it would just appear on its own.

No one had brought side dishes, everyone apparently assuming Eric would be eager for the challenge. He does enjoy cooking, especially for the people he loves, but he wonders if he’s set a dangerous precedent.

The first Thanksgiving after meeting Jack he’d insisted on making the entire meal from scratch in a bid to really impress him with his skills. He hadn’t realised at the time that he and everyone invited would just assume this was something he did every year. Not that they didn’t bring -anything-, but now they think bringing wine is all that’s expected of them. 

Dex, the newest member of their core group, had blessedly missed the memo and brought along a green bean casserole. If Eric hadn’t already made one the night before (being Larissa’s favourite) he would have been thrilled. Instead, he’d nearly cried.

While the others watch the parade (on TV, instead of trying to battle through the streets to see it in person), he paces in front of the second oven, silently praying for the turkey to cook faster. 

He’s about to stick his nose to the hot oven door when Jack looks in.

“How’s it going, bud?”

Eric drops back onto his ass on the floor and whips his head around to look at Jack, who is still leaning on the doorframe and smiling softly. Jack always seems to get some pleasure from watching Eric cook.

“Oh, you know,” Eric says, waving a hand to cover how vague his reply is. He pulls himself to his feet and goes to Jack, resting his hands on his hips as he puts on another smile to look up at him.

“How is it out there?” He asks, ducking his head to peer under Jack’s arm to try to see the living room. He’s been hearing Adam’s colour commentary of the balloons for the past hour, spanning from ‘that parade he saw in ’98’ to this year’s selection. 

“Oh, you know,” Jack replies, smirking down at Eric. He’s always so proud when he teases Eric and Eric feels his irritation starting to fade. He loves these people. Of course he wants them to have the best Thanksgiving.

Jack glances over Eric’s head and starts to frown. Eric can’t stand an unhappy Jack and he turns to try to see the cause of his ire. His first thought is that something’s burning, but considering the turkey is still barely golden it seems unlikely. 

All that’s over there is some plates covered in foil and his dishes in the sink.

“Did you have to use every single bowl we own, Bittle?” Jack asks, looking down at him with that continued unpleasant frown. 

Oh. Of fucking course. Eric steps back from Jack and pushes his hands into his front pockets. 

“You didn’t have to offer to do the dishes. I didn’t say you had to. How am I supposed to cook a feast for six without using a few pots and pans, huh?”

Jack raises his hands in a ‘calm down’ gesture that always serves to infuriate Eric further. He sighs at Eric and turns his back on him to go back to their friends.

Eric slumps back against the counter and stamps his feet ineffectively for a few seconds to try to feel better. It only makes his feet hum. He’s been left alone to have a tantrum and he knows it. Rather than do the dishes noisily out of spite (which is perhaps what Jack wants, he’s never sure anymore), he leaves the kitchen. He doesn’t want to be seen so he skirts silently around the back of the living room and through into the bedroom where he’d stowed his laptop for the day. It’s password protected, but the last time he’d left it out he’d found Larissa watching videos on it within ten minutes of her arrival.

He settles down onto the bed and closes his eyes while it starts up. Thanksgiving is supposed to be fun. He’s supposed to be grateful. He opens his browser and pretends he’s someone else.

 

__ From: ShopBoy <shopboy@pleasemail.com>  
To: NY704 <ny704@pleasemail.com>  
Subject: Fried Green Casseroles 

_ Happy Thanksgiving. I hope you’re having a good day, wherever you are and whatever you’re doing. Since no one here cares about my food and I know I can trust you to listen (or read), I want to share with you my secret to the most fantastic green bean casserole you will ever eat. Guard these secrets with your life. _

_ To preface, the recipe on the French Onions packet that everyone uses is pretty great. I won’t fault it. However, we can do better! _

**Ingredients**

3 to 4 pieces of bacon cut into bite size pieces  
1 small onion  
1 can condensed cream of mushroom soup  
3/4 cup milk  
1/8 tsp. black pepper __(look, we’re talking a pinch here, aren’t we? It’s pepper. Don’t overdo it.)  
4 cups cooked cut green beans _(Green beans do not come from a can!)  
_ 1 1/3 cups crispy fried onions __(I also make my own of these. I am Extra and proud.)

**Directions**

__Fry bacon in pan and add small onion. Mix soup, milk and pepper in a baking dish. Stir in green beans, bacon, and 2/3 cup crispy fried onions.  
Bake at 350°F for 30 min. Stir.  
Top with remaining 2/3 cup onions. Bake for 5 more minutes or until onions are golden.  
Voila! 

_ I’m sharing this recipe with you in part because no one will get to eat my beautiful green bean casserole this year. It’s sitting in my fridge. It’s perfect, just waiting to be heated. And they will miss out. In part because I’m annoyed at them for not offering to help and complaining about how long it takes one person to make a full dinner on their own, and also because the one sweet person here this year brought his own. The French Onions kind. Of course I don’t want to hurt the poor lamb’s feelings, so I’ll be serving his while mine sits in the fridge, possibly to become next week’s lunches. The indignity of it all!  _

_ I do desperately hope you’re having a lovely time. Tell me about it? Cheer a lonely boy up on Thanksgiving. Lie if you have to. _

 

_X_

 

“How many times can they possibly sing that stupid song?” Derek asks as he throws himself down onto the couch across Chris’ lap. After an enormous day of eating, making small talk and generally enduring Kent’s relatives, Derek is starting to show some wear and tear around the eyes. Which are closed.

Kent looks up from his phone to study Derek’s face. He’s been looking more and more tired lately and his patience has been running thin. He normally loves playing with Tina and Ace, although even Kent can admit that there’s a limit to how many times you can stand to hear It’s a Hard Knock Life in any given period. 

“They’re just excited to perform for you,” Kent replies a beat too late. He doubts Derek is even listening. As he’s watching, Chris’ hand passes over Derek’s hair and scritches at his temples. Derek stretches and rolls into it, in a movement that reminds him of Kitt. He lifts his chin to tell Chris this, but when Chris sees him looking he starts to blush and rips his hand away to put it back on the sofa cushions.

“Oh-kayy,” he says, lifting himself off the floor and turning his phone screen back on. “I’m going to check some emails,” he adds as he leaves the room. 

Chris has been jumpy most of the day, but then he can’t blame him for that any more than he can blame Derek for getting bored. His family are a lot to take on and he’s lucky the both of them even agreed to come. Especially Chris, who probably doesn’t have it in him to say no, but with the way his mother tends to patronise him, he’s not surprised he’s a bit skittish. 

Even Kent is verging on those feelings and he’s mostly immune to the charms of his mother, aunts and the various cousins skirting in and out. The three of them are the only men in the house at the moment, with most of his mother’s sisters either divorced or spinsters and his Uncle Hal doing something in Maine. He hopes it’s business related and not some secret family. None of them have the time for that.

Regardless of the reasoning for their presence, being the only grown men in the house means that they’re given every jar to open, every small handy task (except Chris, which annoys them all), and are the stand in example used when complaining about the state of the world. Kent doesn’t feel that’s particularly fair. They might not be angels, but they’re not bad.

He escapes to the library to be alone for a few minutes. He’s not really alone though, his grandmother is snoozing in her favourite chair by the window, but he’s never minded her company. If she wakes up he’ll be rewarded with some actually scintillating conversation or perhaps a Selz from her bag and if she doesn’t then he might as well have the place to himself. He drops into his own armchair, closer to the door and more in shadow than the other chairs that are warm in the afternoon light, and opens up his second email. The better one.

There’s a message from him and his breath catches. He hadn’t many replies since the rejection, the polite thank you but no thank you followed by some stilted musings on the state of the subway system and whether there’s really anything better than the original pumpkin spice latte. They’re only ever replies to Kent’s messages, not new thoughts, and although their back and forth makes it difficult to tell, Kent knows the difference.

This message comes a day after the last message even though Kent hasn’t been able to come up with a reply to that one yet. He’s been feeling awkward and off beat with their rhythm lately and this simple message, or really just a recipe in fact, feels like an olive branch.

He gets to work on a reply about the year he face planted into a pumpkin pie right away.

 

_X_

 

While Thanksgiving might have been fraught with tension, in turn their Christmas is a quiet affair. Eric becomes so exhausted by the Christmas rush even though it does feel busy enough this year, that he finally gives in and agrees with Jack that spending Christmas week in Montreal doesn’t mean he has to cook. Eric had been on edge about providing food since Thanksgiving and they've eaten out a lot more. He doesn’t know whether Jack is aware of the reason why but it seems like too much trouble to try asking. 

He spends a lot of time on his computer with the wifi off, reading over the figures Larissa sends him - spreadsheets that barely make sense, comparisons to previous years and the assets the business holds. He knows what she’s suggesting without having to talk about it but he keeps hoping he’ll see some glimmer of hope, some action that they could take, that Larissa's brilliant mind had somehow missed.

When Jack hides his laptop on Christmas Eve, Eric doesn’t say anything.

He finds it in the hall closet on the 26th and sneaks it back into his bag to use when he had a moment alone. 

That moment comes when he later rejects the invitation for a walk after lunch in favour of a nap but instead Eric settles in an armchair to open up his emails. He's been itching to say this to someone for quite a while now.

 

__ To: NY704 <NY704@pleasemail.com>  
From: ShopBoy <shopboy@pleasemail.com>  
Subject: Holiday Blues 

_ There are so many good things about winter - fresh ice, warm drinks, fluffy sweaters and the holiday spirit - but as soon as I get to the middle point, once the presents are unwrapped and the leftovers are in the fridge and all that remains of the season is murky snow and frigid walks to work, I fail to see the point of it. _

_ This time of year makes me miss my family desperately. For the longest time it was just my mother and I and it was family enough. We had ties to other people and we were strong enough on our own that every year was just beautiful. It didn't matter that my bed was in the living room or that we never had a real tree. We had a wonderful time. _

_ These days I borrow families for the holidays. They have the perfect tree and all the trimmings and more bedrooms than any one family could conceivably need. These people love me and they want me to enjoy myself, but all I can manage to do is miss home. Home is the worst concept when it's not a place but a person. People leave. _

_ I miss my mother all the time but it's so much harder at this time of year. Especially this year. My business is in trouble and I can't help but think that if she were just here she'd know what to do. Even if she didn't, it wouldn't matter. I want her back. _

_ I'm sorry this isn't a happy email. I hope you've had a lovely break filled with joy and whatever holidays you might celebrate.  _

 

He's pressed send and is staring off into space when his screen flashes in the corner of his eye. He glances back instinctively and rubs at his damp cheek with his sleeve. The bottom right corner of his screen is now taken up by an IM window within his browser window. He's never used the pleasemail instant messaging feature before so it takes him a moment to take it in. The window is mostly blank except for a line of text at the top.

**NY704: Hi!**

Eric stares at this message and reaches out to run his hand over it on the screen. The familiar three grey dots flash up at the bottom edge. They disappear as a new message arrives.

**NY704: I thought you might have been online about now.**

Eric doesn't know if this messaging system has a 'read at this time' feature but he hasn't used the touchpad for fear of alerting them in some way. The dots reappear, followed by a third line of text.

**NY704: I'm sorry if this is too forward.I know you like the email thign, but it looks like you might need a friend.**

Eric swallows down the unhappy little sound trying to force its way up his throat. Yes. He does. How can no one else see that? He sighs and tentatively touches his fingers to the keys. He notices the small errors and wonders if NY704 takes the time to edit all their emails too.

**ShopBoy: Hi, happy holidays**

There's an uncomfortable beat and Eric fears that this is all he's getting. He worries for nothing.

**NY704: Hi! Agian. I'm sorry I can't give you a hug. I wish I could. It sounds like youre having atough time. Is there anything I can do?**

**ShopBoy: A hug would be nice. You should send me your cat for a hug break. I'm fine, thank you though, it's sweet.**

**NY704: Kitt to the rescue.**

**NY704: You said your business is in trouble. I've got a head for business . I could help you with that maybe?**

**NY704: Advice here free of charge. Use me.**

Eric hesitates. He doesn't think there's a way to help without specifics. If he tells his mysterious penpal that he's being squashed under the thumb of Ace Books then he's revealed too much. There aren't enough book stores hiding in the boroughs that it would be difficult to find Eric. Even sharing his industry might be too much, but then, he is  _ ShopBoy _ .

**ShopBoy: No specifics, but I'm struggling to compete with other stores in my field.**

The dots appear. They disappear. They come back. Eric waits. Several minutes pass before he gets a reply.

**NY704: Okay. Thats a rough one. You need to stay relevant here. If youve got a niche, push it. If youve got something no one else has, then you gotta show them that's how you shine. Promotional events are good. People love discounts but they like free stuff moer. Put something on and they might take notice.**

**NY704: I bet youre cute. Put your face on stuff. Who could resist you?**

Eric saves the messages to his desktop and immediately gets out his phone to download an IM app. 

When Jack finds him half an hour later he's typing up a storm on his phone and continues to do so for the rest the afternoon. Eric doesn’t know how to feel when Jack comments that it might be the first time he’s seen him smile all break.

 

_X_

 

The Shop Around The Corner hosts a launch event for Little Ransom and the Big Bad Quizmonster on January 8th. There's balloons, a raffle and extra twinkle lights. Justin does a special reading just for Eric's customers and if his hands are shaking by the time he gets around to the signing no one really notices because Adam has taken over crowd control by talking in funny voices over anyone who gets too pushy in line. Eric sees the gratitude written all over Justin's face and he smiles down at his phone again.

**ShopBoy: I'm watching two people fall in love right now. Someone bring me tissues!**

**NY704: Tissues? Are they flalling in love or are people gettin it on in front of you?**

**ShopBoy: Gross. Show some heart. This is pure and sweet so don't ruin it for me.**

**NY704: Okay. I'm sorry. How's your big secret non-specific event? < 3**

**ShopBoy: It's great. < 3 **

Eric gasps when his phone screen brightens and changes to an incoming call. Jack's face flashes up, the photo of him smiling over his shoulder the last time he'd wandered off the path in Central Park to take a photo of a particularly handsome duck.

He presses answer and lifts it to his ear.

"Hello? Jack?"

"Oh. Um, hey bud. I didn't think you'd have the sound on."

"I didn't. I was just checking it. Are you okay?"

"You're always on your phone these days," Jack sighs. "Yeah, no, I'm fine. I'm on lunch and I was just going to leave a message. How's the event going?"

Eric looks across to the signing table where Justin is giggling with an eight year old as Adam tries in vain to get rid of the 'Hug Me' sign taped to his back while two other children cling to his legs.

"It's going great. How's your day, sweetpea?" His phone buzzes against his head. He probably has another message. He can feel the guilt trying to creep in.

"It's fine. Listen, I've been asked to go on that show Knightline? I was just going to say no but then I thought, maybe I could bring up the store? It's about the pride of the underdog so I thought..." 

When Jack trails off Eric jumps in, eyes wide.

"Jack! Yes! That would be amazing. Are you sure?" There's a pause on the line.

"Well. Of course, Bits. If it'll help you. I'll set it up. See you tonight."

The way Jack hangs up is rather abrupt and Eric listens for a beat thinking he might still be there. When he isn't, he pulls his phone away and to check his notifications.

**NY704: I knew it would be!**

Eric smiles to himself.

**ShopBoy: I really think I can do this.**

He pockets his phone with a grin and goes to rescue Adam and reinstate order in his line. 

 

_X_

 

Eric had hoped to have a viewing party for Jack's first national TV interview, but it wasn’t filmed live and Jack came back from the taping adamant that if he had to watch it then he just wanted a quiet night with Eric and a bowl of popcorn to drown himself in.

They elect to watch at Jack's house, although Eric has a feeling Jack plugged his TV into the receiver especially for this evening. Eric brings twinkle lights from the store and several types of popcorn even though he knows Jack will take a bowl of the buttery stuff and that will mostly be the end of it. He decorates as best he can before Jack insists he sit down already. It isn't Eric's fault that Jack's place is so spartan, though he supposes that's because Jack’s spent most of the last six months sleeping over with Eric. 

As they settle down, watching the tail end of a sitcom leading up to Knightline, Eric wonders whether it's odd that they have yet to make it official and move in together. He brushes the thought off as best he can and snuggles into Jack's warm side, upsetting the popcorn bowl in Jack's lap enough that he tickles Eric's waist in retaliation.

Eric giggles and elbows him. 

"Hey, be nice! Just because you're a big star now doesn't mean you can forget us little people!" He cackles when the response to this is more tickling. Jack's smile seems light but there's a tightness around his eyes. Eric is about to try to soothe Jack's nerves when he speaks. 

"There are no little people. I'm nobody. Unless you mean small people, in which case, I could never forget about you." 

Eric opens his mouth, his instinct is to be mildly offended by the crack, but it's also a sweet statement so he hesitates. Unable to decide how to reply he shrugs and flops back into the couch.

"Eat your popcorn," he adds as a parting shot right as the theme music for Knightline begins.

Eric's never been a fan of this particular show. He finds B.S. Knight's manner to be a little too confronting. He's an exuberant man with a lot of opinions, mostly ones that Eric is in favour of, but it's difficult to find the time to watch when the show is a little grating. Eric tries to brush that aside as Knight makes his introductions of the episode's topics and guests. Eric whoops when the "dashingly handsome and outrageously thought-provoking Jack Zimmermann" is mentioned and he kisses Jack's dark red cheek.

Knight is a handsome man, although Eric isn't really a fan of the mid-length hair and moustache look. He's also rather funny. They sit through the interview with a botanist fresh from the jungle and Eric snorts when a venus flytrap closes on Knight's hair when he's cooing to it like a baby. Jack makes some quiet comment about Audrey II but otherwise focuses in silence. 

Half of the popcorn is gone once it's finally time to see Jack. Eric gets up off the couch to try to get a picture that has both Jack and the television in the shot but Jack covers his face by holding up the bowl and Eric has to give up on the project. He instead gets a picture of their socked feet on the coffee table with the screen in the background and he settles for tweeting that. 

"Look! Look! There you are!" Eric squeaks when Jack, wearing his better suit jacket from the week prior walks awkwardly out onto the set. He's blushing on screen too and ducks his head a little as he waves to the cheering crowd. Eric is surprised when Knight stands to hug Jack in greeting, even though he'd hugged the botanist and the crisis lawyer too. Maybe his surprise is really at the fact that his quiet reserved Jack had hugged him back and even seemed to relax a little.

"Jack Zimmermann. God damn I never thought I would get you on my casting couch," Knight says with a grin once they're seated and the clapping has stopped. Both real and TV Jack cough which makes Eric smile.

"You look so handsome," he whispers as Knight runs over Jack's illustrious career at the Le Journal de Montreal, his most noted pieces published in the Canadian Jewish News, La Presse and the New York Times. He praises Jack's work as a photographer too, flashing up the pictures of three school children that had become so popular. It's that triptych he remembers Parson's boyfriend being so fond of. Eric makes a mental note to actually reading the story someday.

Jack's hand taps out a nervous rhythm on Eric's thigh as Knight starts asking questions.

"So. You agreed to this interview for a reason. There's a cause close to your heart right now that you'd like to share with us all."

"Yes. Well. It's arguably not as important as the schools system or the state of poverty in urban areas but it's still... It's worth talking about. I've been watching over the last few months as the landscape of the west village has changed and I don't think this is restricted to New York. We all remember when chain stores like Borders and Starbucks crushed the independents and I don't think we did enough then to support small businesses. Some of these big businesses have since been taken out by online retailers but we haven't learned our lesson. Independent stores are doing their best, like they always have, only now the chains are trying to wipe them out all over again. We've got to look out for our little guy and we've got to look out for places like The Shop Around the Corner." 

TV Jack takes a breath like he hadn't breathed through his memorised tirade and Eric tries to wipe at his eye without being obvious.

"Whoa. Yeah. Totally," Knight agrees, looking stunned. "But what  _ is _ The Shop Around the Corner?"

TV Jack fumbles and starts to explain the purpose of the store, the importance of the knowledge of the people who work there and the effort they put in. Knight has included some photos on the screen behind them so there are shots of the front of the store, the team holding their store Christmas party last year, and one photo Jack had taken of The Fairytale Prince reading to the children. It's so wholesome Eric doesn't see how anyone could ever put them down.

"The Shop Around the Corner is one of the true joys New York has to offer," TV Jack says and Eric tunes back in to what he's saying.

"As are you," Knight replies and he is definitely leering and Jack is definitely smiling.

"I'd love to have you back," Knight continues. "In my corner here we showcase only real people and I'm certain my producers are thrilled to discover that there are real people as gorgeous as this guy. Say the word, Jack Attack and we'll make you a regular." He winks at TV Jack and the audience laughs and cheers.

Next to Eric, Jack is blushing and studiously not looking in his direction.

"Oh. Thank you. Well, I don't think so, but yours is the only show I do watch. Not just for the good-looking host." 

"You flatter me, handsome. I've got this television show thing to wrap up, give me a minute then I'll take you out for a beer and we can talk more." Knight laughs and turns back to the cameras with a grin.

"I've been B.S. Knight, you have been bloody beautiful, from us here at Knightline, good night."

The band closes out the show and soon an ad for toothpaste is playing, but Eric barely hears it. The two of them sit in silence for a full minute, staring blankly at the screen. He doesn't know what to say and by the looks of it Jack doesn't either. Eric realises, rather belatedly, that this might have been why he was invited to view the show at Jack's - so that he could go home after.

His mind is starting to feel hysterical, gearing up to ask if this is a break up and how is he supposed to feel about that - but Jack clears his throat and turns to him.

"Fuck. I'm sorry, Bits. That seemed so much worse than I thought. I got flustered and it was bad and Shitty was just a nice guy. He promised before the show to keep my attention on him so I didn't notice the cameras. We didn't go out after, okay? I came straight back to you. Do you remember?"

His hand is on Eric's thigh again but he's gripping so tightly Eric thinks it's to anchor them to this conversation. There's too many questions racing around in his head and the only thing that manages to pop out of his mouth is the least important one.

"Shitty?" His voice sounds soft, the sound barely escaping his lips.

"Oh, that's what he calls himself off air. Shitty Knight. He's a good guy, he wasn't really flirting. I'm sorry. I only did the show because of you and I got distracted by the attention and made a fool of myself. But I'd do it again, on any show, if it would help you out. I promise you."

Jack has his serious face on. Eric knows he has one hundred percent of his attention right now and anything he asked for he would immediately get. He doesn't like asking when Jack is like this. It feels oddly like taking advantage, holding all this power.

He winds up just patting Jack's hand and trying to shrug it off. 

"It's okay. You can flirt. Maybe not on national television next time but it's okay. I had no idea you had any game."

He watches Jack slump back with relief and he's soon dragged over on top of him. He's always liked snuggly octopus Jack and now he knows he likes him a lot more than TV Jack. If Eric loses the store, he doesn't know what he'll do and he really will be one of the little people not good enough for Jack's notice. The fear settles in with the ugly mix of jealousy and guilt already hanging out in his stomach and plagues him behind his smiles for the rest of their evening. 


	6. Bite

**Winter**

 

Kent's hand is starting to cramp and he's certain he can't keep this up for much longer. He glances across at Chris next to him on the couch, whose eyes are starting to cross in his effort to remain focused. They're both flushed and this isn't going to take long.

"Come onnnn," he groans as he's thrown off the Rainbow Road for at least the eighth time. He's on the final lap and he can see the finish line but he keeps sliding right off the edge.

"Yeah!" Chris exclaims as he slides across the finish line. He drops his controller and turns to Kent with a shit-eating grin.

Kent's koopa crawls across the finish line in his teddy bear car and the grand prix is finally over.

"Oh don't give me that look," Kent snaps. "You came in seventh."

Chris just smiles at him. "Better than last. What was it you said you were going to do with me again? Whoop my ass at Mario Kart. So when is that going to happen? Were the last four races just a warm up orrrrr?"

Kent throws a pillow at Chris' head and picks up his phone to sulk, ignoring the laughter beside him. He's hoping for something from ShopBoy (though he's listed in his phone as SB - Retail) but instead he has a message from Derek, who skipped game night to work late. It's been happening a lot lately and it surprises Kent that he's the one often home alone these days. Which one of them runs an entire company? The message is actually only a link, no words at all from Derek.

He opens it and is taken to an article with a video at the top.

**Shop Around the Corner Fights Back**. He rolls his eyes and clicks on the video since he's not going to bother reading the article. He flips his phone to the side and nudges at Chris when he crowds against his shoulder to see.

Eric Bittle is introduced, looking pleasant but serious as he faces the reporter outside his shop. He's got a bulky striped scarf around his neck and his nose is pink from the cold.

It's no surprise to Kent that the interview is about Ace Books and the impact they're having. They've been anticipating this kind of reaction since they opened. It's coming a little late but 'Bitty' seems determined. They talk about the qualities of his shop and there's some B roll footage of the interior of the store and the fairytale prince. Kent worries for a moment that it will be footage from the day he was there with the kids, until he remembers he'd have noticed cameras.

Bitty turns to the camera when asked his personal opinion on Ace Books. He doesn't address the store though, he comes right for Kent.

"I do know Kent Parson and we have discussed the place in our city for our stores. We agree that the Shop Around the Corner is quaint, cute and a wonderful place for families to be entertained and receive the best recommendations." When he smiles before continuing, it's all teeth.

"However, I just cannot agree with his summation that the people of New York are 'greedy and cheap', that's an exact quote, when all I see are kind, decent families just looking to get the best experience they can. I believe that my store offers that experience and we will continue to do so, big book chains be damned. I'm sorry to curse." He says this last part to the reporter off camera before shooting another toothy smile straight ahead.

The report continues by saying they reached out to Kent for comment, which they did NOT and he gasps in horror as they pull up a still from an interview he'd had two weeks prior. The clip begins and he shrugs, also facing off camera.

"We're cheap. So what?"

The video ends there and the room is silent except for the sound of the video game playing a cutesy highlight reel. Kent continues to stare at his phone, starting to feel a strange chill spreading through his body.

"You called us cheap?" Chris eventually asks, whispering it and goddamn if he doesn't sound hurt by the notion. It spurs Kent into moving, but only to throw his controller to the floor.

"Fuck! No! That wasn't part of the interview! You saw it, they posted it last week! I was eloquent! SHIT." He slams his heels into the floor and pushes his fists in his eyes. "This is not good. Shit shit shit."

Chris' fingers settle into his hair and begin to firmly push their way through the hair to stroke his scalp.

"You're not very bright, are you, Parson? Greedy and cheap, that's an exact quote. Can he prove that?" Chris still sounds gentle but Kent doesn't think he's hurt anymore, just exasperated. Kent pulls his hands away from his face to squint at Chris while his vision comes back.

"No. That was just," he waves a hand in the air, "evil Kent, out for a run at a dinner party. Bittle was all uppity that I took the kids to his shop and I said some stupid mean shit to him. He would have suckered me if his hulking nerdyguard wasn't there. Yeah, okay, I'm stupid, but I thought we'd made nice! I bought his thanksgiving groceries, remember I told you?"

As the stars in his vision start to fade he sees Chris scrunch up his brow and study him.

"That was three months ago. Just because you've got a fish named after this guy doesn't mean he knows you're just a jerk. Maybe you could ask your tinder boyfriend what to do about it." His mouth is set in a hard line and he doesn't react except to look more stern as Kent's mouth drops open.

He sputters and crosses his arms, then uncrosses them to press his palms into his knees, then moves to sit on his hands.

"I- What? I do NOT have a tinder boyfriend! I don't use tinder! Chris why would you even think- That's just-" Chris continues to look unimpressed and irritated, so he gives in.

"I have a friend. Okay? I need to stress that this is NOT a tinder situation. I wouldn't do that, come on. I mean, there's no sexting happening here. No part of me has been snapchatted at any point." He regrets sitting on his hands because hand gestures might have helped with convincing Chris.

Chris continues to glare at him and Kent shrinks a little under it.

"A friend. One you've never told me or Derek about. That you text constantly with a dopey smile? Is this friend the reason you’ve taken a sudden interest in cooking?"

Kent winces and glances at his phone, by his leg on the couch. If the universe were even more against him his phone would light up now with a message from him, but it doesn't.

"Wait, what makes you think I haven't told Derek?" He butts in quickly, grasping for any vine to pull him out of this awkward situation. Chris grunts, that noise of indignation that signals he's too annoyed now to even speak.

"Oh. Shit," Kent whispers. "Derek knows?"

Chris gets to his feet and turns off the TV, silencing the stupid exclamations from the game that have been ruining the ambiance of this fight. It is a fight, Kent realises now. He's being called on his shit and it sucks. He'd really thought no one knew.

"So there is something to know then," Chris snaps, turning around with his fists clenched. He's not going to hit Kent, they both know Chris is barely confrontational at the best of times, but he must be really angry now. Kent's starting to feel like maybe he deserves it.

"You've been taking Derek for granted all year. He's being crushed under this job you got for him and you don't even care. His manuscript got turned down by the publisher and he was devastated. Did you even notice? You're a shitty boyfriend at the best of times, Parson. You cannot handle having two. I won't- I won't stand for it."

Kent watches helplessly as Chris claps his fist against his hip. He seems like he doesn't know what to do. Neither does Kent, so he stands, though he's not sure how standing will help.

"Chris, I'm so sorry. It's not- The two aren't related. I'm so sorry. I'll get better, okay? I mean, consider it done. If it's making you two unhappy then I'll stop. It'll be easy?" It's not meant to be a question and he gets scowled at for it. Chris' mouth is open, likely to say something out of character and cutting, but Kent's phone trills.

In hindsight, he's surprised no one called him out on this thing earlier. When they started texting he gave ShopBoy his own message tone so he'd know whether to check it. Derek and Chris have the same one, a chime sound he's fond of that tells him he has to check it straight away, though he's become used to the noise and tends to ignore it now. ShopBoy's alert is the chime of a shop bell. He never misses it.

He and Chris both look to the phone. After an awkward pause, Kent picks up and opens the message, prepared to be aloof about it. He swallows.

"He wants to meet."

 

_X_

 

It takes Eric three days to get himself worked up enough to ask NY704 to dinner.

It starts with the interview. He's raring to fight Ace Books to the death after getting asked all the right questions in front of a camera to make him angry and get all the right soundbites. He feels a bit catty afterwards but he wants to tell NY all about it. He doesn't end up doing so, worried that maybe he will see the article and figure out who he is. Rather than do that, he just sends happy emojis for most of the afternoon.

The following day he has lunch with Larissa. Usually they gossip about celebrities they only half follow, make up ridiculous recipe ideas and never talk about work. With how hard they're working to keep the shop afloat, they can't help but delve into it.

"No difference at all?" Eric despairs over the top of his milkshake straw. Larissa shrugs and her expression is commiserating.

"Sorry, Bits. I mean, we're not completely failing but it's not great. If I were to make you a line graph we could take turns rolling down it. If this publicity isn't making a difference you might have to consider. You know. The other option."

Eric gasps, betrayed. Larissa looks studiously down at her pasta and refuses to make eye contact.

"Close the store? Why would we- We can't preemptively do that, it's giving in! This store was my mother's!"

Larissa sighs into her primavera and raises her head.

"I know it was your mom's, Bits. We all know that and it's important to you. But like, your mom loved you more than the store. She wouldn't mind if you closed it to do something else with your time. Running a business in New York is expensive and she was lucky to hold onto it as long as she did. None of us want to close, okay? But maybe it would be better to consider it an option before the universe forces your hand."

She reaches across to pat his hand, a rare thoughtful gesture considering most of the time her form of affection is to try to put people into headlocks. Eric can feel the urge to cry, but he does his best to swallow it down.

"I feel like I'd be letting her down. It IS her and it's this piece of her that's still around and I'm failing it." He blinks rapidly and nudges his drink aside. The salted caramel is suddenly too sickly sweet to consider.

"Your mom always wanted you to be happy, Bitty. She took everything she had to move you both to New York when you came out so you could have a better life than she thought Georgia would offer you. I don't believe she opened the store for it to be her legacy. I think she just did it because she wanted a safe place for you." Larissa is kind and she keeps her voice lowered, but they're still in a restaurant in the middle of the day, so a handful of patrons turn their heads when Eric whimpers and hides his face in his hands. He’s vaguely aware of putting his elbow in his bread roll, but he doesn’t move it. God he misses his mother.

Larissa's chair scrapes as she shuffles over to pat him on the back, her hand resting between his shoulder blades as he tries to breathe through the grief. It takes him a couple of minutes to get it together but his throat is tight when he speaks.

"I didn't come out. She caught me kissing Joey Layton in his treehouse."

Larissa laughs and her hand draws away.

"You'll be okay, Bits. Whatever happens, there's a ton of people who have got your back."

"What will you do? If the store closes?" It's the first time Eric's ever entertained the notion of there being anything _after_ the store closing. "Hypothetically," he adds, because baby steps.

Larissa shrugs, dragging her seat back over to her meal. She starts eating again and her next thought is shared with her fork held like a paintbrush and a mouthful of sauce.

"Something different. Might start taking my art more seriously, you know? I could do a course or something, but I think maybe I'd just get a retail job somewhere and paint at night. I don't know Bits. I'll be fine, okay? We all will be. We've had this great boss who taught us all these valuable skills for the job market and shit."

Eric raises his cup and takes a sip from the straw.

"I'll think about it," he concedes and then thankfully Larissa distracts him for the rest of their meal with the concept of a meatball sub with meatloaf for the bread. She says she's going to patent it.

When he gets to Jack's after work for their date night he's still feeling fragile but does his best to put on a smile. Jack is cooking and they've agreed to stay in. Eric forgot his overnight back but he's sure he's left enough clothes here to make it through the night. Jack is supposed to be cooking, but when he opens the door the light is still off in the kitchen and the apartment is empty. He finds the balcony door open and Jack is outside on the phone. He's not much of a phone person, always giving short answers and eager to hang up, but when Eric steps out he's chuckling and honestly smiling.

"Damn." He glances up at Eric and his expression is instantly guilty. "No, sorry. Eric's here. I'm meant to be cooking. I gotta go. Bye, Shitty.”

Jack looks up, seeing Eric’s creased brow and open mouth and he visibly hesitates.

“Sorry. Shitty called and it ran long. I’ll get started on dinner.” He gets to his feet, shoving his phone into his pocket as he tries to slip past Eric. Eric puts a hand on Jack’s chest to stop him and looks up.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” He asks. Jack seems to have no clue and after some very obvious quick-thinking, he darts forward to kiss Eric on the forehead. It makes Eric snicker, even with the sick feeling still lingering in his stomach.

“Close enough I guess. _Hi, Jack._ ” He stresses on the greeting and waits as understanding spreads over Jack’s faintly red cheeks.

“Hi. Sorry. Are you okay?” Jack hunches his shoulders in, which Eric has always thought of as an attempt to be less intimidating but now it seems more like a bid to get closer to him without making contact.

“I’m fine, sweetpea. Do you need help?” He starts to gently push Jack inside now that he feels like he’s actually been acknowledged.

“So you and Shitty are actually going to be friends now?” The name feels sour on his tongue and even if he finds it a tasteless epithet, it feels less petty than continuing to call the guy ‘Knight’. He’s trying to be okay.

He follows Jack into the kitchen, turning on the light as he goes. He hops up onto an uncomfortable chrome barstool and watches as Jack begins to rummage through the fridge for their ingredients. He’d press about what he’s making but he really does need an answer.

Jack replies without looking back while he collects up a bizarre combination of hummus, chicken breasts and leftover pasta salad. Eric wrinkles his nose and waits.

“Yeah. He’s a nice guy. Kind of a big personality, but we have similar views. He, uh, he wants to get dinner this week.”

Jack manages to pass in front of Eric without actually facing him so he’s unable to see much of his expression as he thankfully only takes the chicken breasts out of the fridge to start preparing. Eric hums and when he speaks he makes sure to keep his tone measured.

“Just checking, honey, but er, he knows who I am to you, right? I’m not just your latest underdog pet project.”

The pause that follows is unseemly and Eric has never felt so betrayed.

“Jack!” He whimpers, immediately embarrassed by the weak shape of the sound, but it seems to be the only thing that can get Jack to turn around. The fact that he looks so guilty hurts but also serves as an unkind reminder that Jack’s probably not the one who has done the most wrong in their relationship. He wishes he’d never asked.

“No, he knows. Of course he knows!” Jack reaches out, but his hand stops short and rests on the counter between them. His sad eyes are always unfair in situations like this and Eric wants to just tell him to forget the whole thing. Instead he stares into his face and doesn’t find the strength to speak.

“I mean. I told him after filming, before I came home. He knows. It’s just, he told me I should ask you if- if you’d mind that it’s kind of a date?”

Eric gasps and Jack swears under his breath, shaking his head vehemently.

“I don’t know how to explain this. It sounded so simple when he said it. It’s not like, I don’t want to- to kiss him or touch him in any way and it’s not like I’d ever look for anyone but you, Bits. He just wanted to make sure you were okay with um, wining and dining, he said. Non-romantically, I guess? Shit.” Jack takes a step back, swiping his hand aggressively over his eyes. Jack has never been good at explaining himself and Eric tries desperately to understand. There’s an awkward pained silence as they both think.

Finally, Eric tries.

“Like a… Friend date? He just wants to um, to treat you? But he’s not looking to sleep with you, right? Right?"

Jack nods, vehement, and rounds the counter to meet Eric. Eric takes a gentle hold of his wrists. The touch has always steadied them both in the past and they need it now.

“Well… Okay, sweetheart. You deserve nice things and I did say you could flirt with him if you wanted to. Maybe I’ll make plans with the gang that night so it’s less weird. Just um, as long as you tell me if- no, do what you want. Just keep me updated, I guess.”

Jack looks relieved and Eric tries to keep upbeat throughout dinner, but it’s an awkward affair.

He doesn’t even wait until Jack goes to bed to get out his phone and message NY704. For someone watching TV with their long term partner, he feels agonisingly lonely. He uses the fear of the shop, the latent anger about Jack’s new sugar daddy and the twisted selfish need for attention to get the motivation to ask for a meeting. He skips coffee altogether as well as his manners and simply says:

**Let’s get dinner.**

 

_X_

 

Making Chris come on his date with an internet stranger should seem like a good idea, but of course in practice it isn’t. Chris is clear that he’s only coming to make sure Kent doesn’t do something stupid, like elope. He’s promised Chris a hundred times since he received the invitation that he’s only going for closure. That this mystery person has been a close friend for a long time and he wants to explain in person that he has a partner and while he’s glad to meet them he wants to be clear that they cannot date.

They’ve had the conversation so many times that Kent has his speech memorised. He doesn’t intend to let Chris join them at the table though, so he’s hoping to tack on a couple of apologies about leading ShopBoy on, because he was definitely flirtatious.

Chris didn’t want to help him pick an outfit either, so he had to change three times at home on his own. The fact that this is Derek’s first night off this week only serves to make him feel more like scum and he knows he deserves it. He’ll meet ShopBoy and then buy ice cream and go home to tell Derek all about it.

When he’d first asked to meet ShopBoy he hadn’t had the hindrance of a six foot tall conscience following him around. He was stupid to ever think anything about this could be innocent. He was stupid about a lot of things, he knows.

Their uber arrives at the restaurant ten minutes before their reservation and Kent can’t seem to walk any closer than corner. Chris gives him a light shove but when that doesn’t help he comes to stand in front of him.

“Come on. You’re nearly there. Just go in, buy the poor boy some dinner and tell him the truth. If you come clean about it all, maybe he can really be your friend. A real friend, that the people in your life actually know about.” He punctuates this with a surprisingly harsh glare.

Kent takes a deep breath and puts his hands on Chris’ shoulders.

“You go.”

“…What?”

“You go in. Be me. You’re nicer than me anyway! He’ll like you better.”

Chris takes Kent’s hands off him, one at a time, and takes a step back.

“I. Will. Not. I’m pissed about being here in the first place. Just because I sympathise with the guy doesn’t mean I’m not mad at you. Go have your awkward dinner, then call me as soon as you’re done.”

Chris crosses his arms to wait him out.

“Chriiiiis,” Kent whines, pouting at him. It clearly has no effect. “Okay,” he sighs, trying again. “Could you just look then? Give me a heads up? Tell me if he looks like he could beat me up. Or if he looks like the type that might cry. I need time to tailor this a bit. He’s wearing an aster, he said. I think it’s like a daisy.”

He clutches his hands together and prays Chris will show him some mercy. Chris is a soft touch, so after a beat, he relents and spins on his heel.

“Fine. But I’m not telling you if he’s cute.”

While Chris stalks off to the brightly lit restaurant, Kent mutters to himself, “Of course he’s cute,” then shoves his fidgeting hands in his pockets to wait. A couple wanders past him, a little drunk, and one of the women lists off to the side, nearly knocking into him, while she tries to dump some wet daisies into a trash can.

He strains to see Chris’ expression as he stops by the window and peers in. He’s serious for several moments as he scans the room, then he stops abruptly. After the most painful pause Kent has ever experiences, he’s horrified that Chris starts laughing. Not a small laugh, but a cackling. He ducks out of view behind the decorative shrubbery, having mostly likely garnered some attention and he hurries back over while crouched.

When he straightens up he takes one look at Kent’s face and begins giggling all over again. He leans on him for support while the colour drains from Kent’s face.

“What? Oh my God, what? Chris cut it out and tell me!” He grabs Chris’ shoulders again and squeezes, trying to get him to focus.

Chris is red in the face and there are tears in his eyes as he beams at Kent. He looks seconds away from laughing again.

“Shit, Kenny. You sure know how to pick them. This is the best thing ever. Okay so… He could definitely beat your ass. No question. And he’s probably going to cry while doing it. And you know what? You deserve it.”

Chris pushes Kent’s arms off and grabs out his phone. He holds it up and is likely taking a picture of him by the angle.

“Why is that funny? Chris, what the fuck? What are you doing?” He goes to step forward, wanting to look at whatever beefed up soulful person is waiting for him inside. Chris continues to hold up the phone in front of him.

“He’s cute tooo,” he sing-songs. “Sweet as piiie. Not that this will help you. You know why?” The fact that Chris is smiling about this does not bode well. Kent chances a glance at the restaurant windows ahead and nervously looks back at Chris.

“Because I have an awesome boyfriend at home and I’m about to upset this guy?” It’s a rough guess and he thinks it’s the right answer but to his surprise Chris shakes his head.

“Nope, that’s not why. Your date. Your mystery man, that you’ve an awful person for flirting with for who the fuck knows how long? You ready? It’s… Eric Bittle.”

It’s possible the world abruptly stops spinning because Kent staggers. He thinks he’s lost hearing in one ear and he shakes his head trying to push this information back out.

“No.”

“ _Yes_.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

Chris, who has always been stronger than he looks, takes Kent and leads him straight over to the window. Kent wants to hide, but behind glass at night he’s not visible to the patrons inside.

Chris is right, of course. Sitting in a prime spot by the back wall is Eric Bittle. He’s switching between looking at the menu and the door while twirling a small purple flower in his fingers. Chris is also right that he’s cute. He always knew Eric was a beautiful man and he’s seen him dressed up before, but this is different. His hair swoops back from his face and he has the most adorable bowtie on. He’s succeeded in looking both sweet and dashing and Kent hurts to know that effort has been put in for him. It doesn’t make sense, it just cannot be true that his sweet ShopBoy is this man, but there’s no one else screaming blind date like he is. It makes no sense and too much sense and Kent sees the benefit in flinging himself into traffic.

“Enjoy your date,” Chris coos, patting Kent on the shoulder as he walks away, apparently satisfied that Kent is not going to be able to talk this man into running away with him. “Call me after!”

Kent doesn’t see where Chris disappears while he spends several minutes watching mournfully as the namesake of his damn fish jumps and smiles every time the restaurant door opens. Kent is never going to earn that smile.

He tears his gaze away and turns to walk, pulling out his phone to get another uber, but there are messages there. He turned off message alerts after the incident with Chris and he’d felt too sick to check them on the ride over. There’s a few.

**I got here early accidentally. Can’tw ait to see you!**

**Should I order you a drink?**

**Maybe I should have just said Im the dork in the bowtie. People keep looking at my flower funny.**

**are you on your way?**

The last one comes through as Kent’s reading the rest. He turns back to look at the window and sees Eric putting away his phone. He looks so nervous. Kent can’t do this to him, but he has to do something.

He squares his shoulders and enters the restaurant. He scans the restaurant and does his best not to react when he sees, unimpeded by glass, Eric look up with so much hope in his expression. It doesn’t just fall this time, it warps into open disgust.

Kent’s stomach twists but he puts on a smile and gives Eric a little wave, acting surprised as he approaches.

“Well, hello, Bitty. It’s nice to see you! Is this seat taken?” He goes to reach for the chair, his chair, but a sour looking Eric is out of his seat immediately, reaching out to grab the chair back firmly.

“Yes, yes it is. I’m sorry, Mr Parson but I’m waiting for someone.”

Kent holds up his hands in protest and takes a single step back. “My mistake. You must be waiting for your journalist.”

He regrets the dig immediately for the way it makes Eric turn his head and flush. He’s hit a nerve and what right does he have to be rude now? What right did he ever have?

He steps away from the table and drops himself into a seat at the next one over, turning back to face Eric while making it clear that they’re not sitting ‘together’. He’s aware that seating himself means he’s still being rude to the waitstaff, but god he does not care.

“Alright, not the journalist. That’s alright. I’m just here by myself, perhaps you’d let me apologise while you wait for your friend.”

Eric shoots him a sharp look and Kent silently mourns again the lack of warmth regarded to him, warmth that he never deserved.

“Apology? That’s rich.” Eric sniffs and looks back at the door, though it remains closed.

“Well, yeah I guess. It looks like I’ve been causing you some distress. I saw that interview of yours. Look, I won’t apologise for doing business. It’s not personal and I don’t have anything against your charming little store. But I have been rude to you and that wasn’t needed. Just because we’re in rival companies it doesn’t mean I want you to hurt you.”

Beyond making a snort of unveiled derision, Eric doesn’t actually reply and it appears he isn’t going to, so Kent takes a breath and attempts to continue.

“I have enough enemies, Eric. If you can’t forgive me, that’s fine, but I want you to know that I’m still sorry, for more than you know. I mean, ideally, I’d like for us to be friends, but I’ll make myself be okay with being someone you detest that you at least know means you no harm.”

When Eric turns in his chair to look back at him, it’s as if he’s never seen Kent before, or like he’s grown a second head. Kent thinks a new brain might be a welcome distraction from how stupid he feels. He’s the worst guy on the planet.

“Well…” Eric begins, clearing his throat as he stares. “I appreciate the apology, but I don’t know that I can accept it.”

Kent opens his mouth to reply but he’s kept silent when Eric continues talking, looking frustrated again.

“How can you say business isn’t personal? Of course it’s personal! My store is everything I have! I have worked there for half my life. It was my mother’s place, it’s my only tie to her memory and even if it wasn’t, it’s important! It’s my job, it’s my home, I have poured everything I have into it and then your store comes along and tries to obliterate us?” His voice is growing steadily louder and Kent coughs to try to butt in, to get Eric to stop from drawing stares, but he continues on.

“You can say it’s not personal all you want, but it is, it’s just that you don’t care. I wish I could be as unfeeling in business as you, but I’m just not built that way. So thank you, I guess, for being sorry for some things, but it doesn’t get rid of the fact that you represent everything I have been made to hate. Enjoy your evening, Mr Parson.”

Eric turns in his seat, abruptly cool after the fiery rage he’s directed at Kent. He sits staring at the back of Eric’s head for a long moment and eventually patrons around them stop outwardly staring. He feels sicker than he ever has in his life, the guilt twisting around him and suffocating.

“Right. Well. I suppose I deserved that. I think your date is late, Bittle. You should probably just reschedule. I like that flower.” Kent is shaky as he gets up from his seat and he keeps his hands in his pants pockets as he walks away. At the door he gives a small wad of cash to the hostess to cover anything Eric orders. He needs at least two pints of ice cream for this. He makes a mental note to get some of that caramel core stuff for Derek too.

He has a lot of explaining to do.


	7. Divergence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're off the beaten path now! On to new and greater things!

Eric waits for over two hours. 

When Kent had left he'd felt powerful, as if he'd won something by finally getting to pinpoint exactly what had bothered him about the man for so long. He'd gotten to rub it in, too, but refusing to befriend him. 

He's had maybe half an hour of pleasure out of that before he realises he’s been stood up.

He doesn’t want to believe it.

He's hot with shame, cooking away in his stupid bowtie that he’s had to tug away from his neck to keep from suffocating. Tears start to sting behind his eyes when yet another couple that had arrived after him settles their bill and leaves.

He'd been so sure.

His voice shakes when he finally requests to pay for his drinks. He's hungry and sick to his stomach and a tiny bit tipsy when he hurries out of the stifling restaurant and into the cool air of the street. 

There's some flowers poking out of the top of a trash can by the corner, pink and a little crumpled. Eric mistakes the daisies for asters and stares at them for a full minute before bursting into tears.

He feels like a child, bawling over his hurt feelings in the middle of the street like this but he can't stop. He holds onto enough dignity to keep from running but he keeps a brisk pace in his rush to get home. He doesn't want to go home at all, not back to his empty apartment knowing Jack is on his ridiculous non-sexual man-date while Eric was being a creep off to meet his non-sexual internet boyfriend. He just needs to get behind a closed door before someone snapchats the crazy man crying on the sidewalk. 

He slows down as he reaches his front step, spotting the light peeking through his living room window above. Just his luck if he's being robbed right now, he thinks. He doesn't get out his phone to call the cops as he climbs the steps. He can't even bring himself to care about his lights when he's busy lamenting the mess he's gotten himself into. He's going to have to pretend it never happened, that he never got caught up in the flirtatious banter and innocent prose with a stranger. It wasn't about sex, it never was, but it was more cheating than Jack's date. He's always known that, even if he found an odd enjoyment in being hurt about it. 

He's been so awful to Jack, without Jack even knowing.

When he turns his key in the lock and cracks open the door he feels the warmth of the room rush out at him. Burglars might turn on lights, but Eric doubts they bother to set the thermostat. He pushes the door open the rest of the way, but he can no longer bring himself to enter.

Jack is sitting on his couch, illuminated only by the one lamp, picking sullenly at the petals on a large bouquet of marginally wilted but happy tulips. A few petals have already fallen to the coffee table, scattered around the base of the vase. 

Jack turns to look at him, standing in an abrupt jerk as if he'd been dragged up by the top of his head. His sweet, sad face is etched with worry and that's the thing that sends Eric back over the edge. With all the shame and the guilt running over Eric begins to cry in earnest again. No longer the loud, harsh sobs that had fallen from his lips in his embarrassing run home, now instead he hangs his head and weeps. 

He's trembling and broken and he feels so  _ small _ as Jack rushes to him. He realises Jack has been calling his name but he doesn't take much notice until large hands rest on his shoulders, giving him a brief shake.

"Bits? Sweetheart what's wrong?" Jack's voice is soft, as it often is, but he's not angry like he should be. Not that he knows. Shit. Eric knows that he has to tell him everything, but he can't speak so he whimpers and throws himself forward in Jack's arms.

He doesn't deserve this kindness, not any of it, but he knows that Jack might leave and not come back tonight so he takes what he can get.

He feels more than hears the rumbling of Jack's voice with his face pressed firmly into his warm chest. He soaks through Jack's dress shirt easily. He's dressed up from his date, of course, and it's this that reminds Eric that he too is dressed in his finest.

He's such a fool.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was so wrong and I hurt you and I'm so sorry."

These are the things Eric  _ should _ be saying, but he's not the one who speaks. He stills in Jack's arms when he hears his patient, distant, but ultimately loving boyfriend apologise. 

After a second where Eric doesn't even breathe, which causes his breath to hitch on his next inhale, he makes himself pull away even though meeting Jack's gaze is painful.

"Jack- please don't," he whispers. He doesn't know why Jack is sorry. Maybe he slept with that Knight guy- although it's only just after ten so that seems unlikely. Whatever he's sorry for, it can't possibly be worse than what Eric's done, or tried to do.

" _ Eric _ ," Jack whispers, the word quivering in the air between them. His eyes look red and if Jack starts to cry now Eric won't know what to do. He's never seen Jack cry before. He used to try to imagine what it would look like if he ever showed such a visceral emotion. Eric wishes now that he never has to see it again, that he never cause Jack any more pain like this. 

Eric takes a breath, though he doesn't feel it hit his lungs. He pats Jack's chest with one hand and tries gently with the other to steer him back to the couch. Jack sits heavily with his legs pressed together at the knee, like he's trying to take up as little space as he can. He's hunched over as he nods to the space next to him.

Eric takes the invitation and sits down, though he's careful not to sit close enough to touch. He runs a finger over one of the tulips before reaching beyond them to grab a tissue. He has to take a few stilted minutes to mop up as much of the tears and snot as he can before he can even think about explaining. When he blows his nose one last time and feels more clear headed, he begrudgingly begins, though he avoids Jack's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Jack," he begins, gaze trained on Jack's hands which are clasped tight in his lap. His fingers twitched occasionally, like it's an uncomfortable position for them. "There's so much I have to explain and I don't know where to-"

"What's his name?" 

It's a simple question, barely voiced, but it stops Eric up all the same. When he chances a glance at Jack's face there's still no anger, but he's teary and somehow that's so much worse. Jack swipes at his eyes and stares back at Eric, waiting. 

It's so messed up, this entire situation, and Eric snorts, burying his face into his hands for a moment, muttering 'oh god'.

"I don't know," he finally says and if that isn't just the funniest thing he's heard all night. He dares to laugh, but it's only a small, scornful thing. He makes himself look up again and he straightens, turning to face Jack now that the tone has changed. He looks more confused now than sad and it's slightly better. Still terrible, but better.

"I went out tonight to meet someone I found on the internet. I don't know his name or what he looks like, we just send emails." He pauses here, trying to stress this because Jack wouldn't be the first one to assume there's been skype sex involved. Jack nods stiffly, though he doesn't appear illuminated by this information, just solemn. 

"It was just a friendly thing but I hid it from you because, well, I guess I just liked having someone to talk to. I was afraid you'd judge me at first but then it started to mean a lot to me. Everyone expects me to be Eric, the bright and bubbly book prince and with him I could just talk and not feel like I was letting anybody down. I should have told you, but by then it meant too much and I wanted to keep it all to myself. Or um. Mostly." He winces, thinking of the fact that most of Jack's friends already know and have yet to tell him. He forges ahead, thinking it better to get the story out in its entirety.

"When things started to go bad with the shop, we started texting. With everyone else depending on me at the store I liked having someone in my corner who didn't rely on me. He um, he's asked to meet before and I said no. I liked it how it was, all innocent and um..." He searches around for the word and Jack clears his throat, a little grumble before he speaks.

"Easily deniable," he offers and Eric flushes, the heated shame blooming across his face and through the tips of his ears.

"Yeah. What I was doing didn't feel real until I was sitting in the restaurant tonight. I don't know why I thought it would fix anything but you were off on your date and the store is- what it is and I just wanted  _ something _ ." He presses the heel of his hand to the bridge of his nose and tries to find the words to explain how he's sorry now without having felt any real remorse until ten minutes ago.

"What was he like?"

Eric laughs this time and it's a wet sound. God he's so stupid.

"He didn't show. I think he took one look at me and left. Fuck. And isn't that just what I deserve? I don't know what I did or what he expected but I thought- I thought he cared about me." He sniffs and pushes harder into his eye with his hand, trying to stave off the tears because he doesn't deserve to cry on Jack anymore than he already has. 

"Jack I'm  _ so _ sorry. I know you won't want to stay but I need you to know- I love you so much. I know that's stupid when I've been such a- such a rat, but I do. I promise I do. A-Anything I can do to make this easier, I'll do it." He was already trying to make a list in his head of all the things of Jack's here that he might have to pack for him. He'll give Jack all the CDs they've bought while together, even though Eric downloads all his music he supposes it will be a token gesture.

He isn't looking at Jack so he startles when fingertips press into his back between his shoulder blades, starting to press at the tension in his spine.

He sees Jack's knees turn towards him but he doesn't dare look up until Jack's other hand gently pulls his hand away from his face. It's red where he'd pushed into his nose so he's sure his face is all blotchy to match.

Jack's eyes seem unbearably patient in the lamp light. They're still wet and while he's not calm he seems determined.

"I'm sorry he didn't show. If he had, would you have broken up with me? Please don't lie."

Eric doesn't know what to make of this kindness. He hesitates, searching Jack's face before he eventually he shakes his head. He doesn't know what he would have done, but he hadn't ever daydreamed about taking this mystery man to bed, because that would have meant crossing a line he couldn't come back from and it would have also meant ending things with Jack.

Jack's shoulders rise as he takes a deep breath and his thumb rubs into Eric's palm where he has yet to release his hand. 

"I don't talk to you enough. I've been trying to show you for weeks now that I'm here for you but I never said anything. When Shitty asked me out tonight I wound up talking to him about all the things I needed to be saying to you. He's nice and I kind of liked the idea of this platonic thing but once I got there I knew it was the wrong move." 

Jack doesn't usually talk at length about his feelings, so Eric waits him out as he goes quiet. He's struggling to comprehend that Jack seems to think he's done anything wrong that's worth mentioning. Soon enough, Jack continues.

"I told him about you and that I was scared you'd found someone else and that was why I'd agreed to the date. He had some good advice. I mean, he said if you were cheating on me then you're a 'fucking shitstain jerkass'..." Jack pauses, smiling a little as if he finds this particular statement charming, but soon his brow furrows again. "But he also said a lot of stuff about love languages and how people express how they feel. He said if I wanted to keep you then I needed to get it together and  _ talk _ . Until we're on the same page again. So he let me cut out of dinner early and I picked these up at a stand that was about to close and I came here."

They both look to the tulips, slightly wilted but still heartfelt in the gesture. Jack's put them into Eric's favourite vase from the huge number of them stashed under his sink. Eric likes the fact that Jack knows which one to use, even if it's more than a little shaming right now.

"I came here," Jack says again, just a hair too quiet for the distance, "and you were gone and I thought I was too late."

He sniffs and Eric can't keep from closing the distance. He pushes Jack's hands gently back from his lap and moves to sit sideways on Jack's thighs, slipping his arms around broad shoulders. He still doesn't deserve it but instantly feels a little better just being closer to him.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers into Jack's hair. "I would love it if you talked to me more. I feel like you haven't told me.. Anything about yourself in months. That's um, I'm sure a lot of that is my fault but I'm here, okay? I'm the worst and I'm so sorry, but I was never going to leave. Talk to me?"

Jack does.

It takes some time to hash out everything they've been struggling with, personal problems rolling into financial ones and by midnight they've gotten out Eric's laptop to view the spreadsheets from the store. They make decisions that Eric has been hesitating on for weeks now and they make them together, which makes it so much easier.

_ Will you let me help you? _ Jack had whispered into his hair, the sweet man, but Eric had known if what he needed was to keep the store open at any cost he'd have swallowed his pride months ago.

_ No sweetheart, I don't want you to. It's okay. _

 

_X_

 

When Eric wakes the next morning he can't hear the shower running and there's no haze of steam seeping out of the bathroom. He squints when he tries to open his eyes as he hasn't closed his curtains. He can feel the weighty warmth of the blankets and it isn't until there's a snuff of warm air against the back of his neck and Jack nuzzles in that he realises this is the lazy sleep in he's been quietly missing for months now.

He still feels a bit sick, knowing what he'd got to face today, breaking the news to the important people, but at least he had this. He makes a promise to himself not to check his phone until after work, when he's home again and he won't have to hide from Jack that it's painful to have been stood up. It might have been for the best though, he sees now.

 

_X_

 

To say the team is surprised is an understatement. Eric's relieved that no one seems actually hurt by the news. Dex might be the most upset of the lot, but that's because it means he might have to take some distasteful job that he's been offered, not because he'll be out on the street or anything. He won't say what the offer is, but he promises it's not something from which he needs to be saved. Adam is unsurprisingly the loudest reaction. He might have wanted to shout 'what' or 'how' but the sound that comes out is definitely just 'wow' and he insists on checking Eric for a fever, then hugging him so tight he lifts him a little way off the ground. Larissa also gives him a hug and tells him it's for the best, then escapes to the office before anyone but Eric can see she's a bit misty-eyed.

He'd expected the day after that to be quiet and reserved but it isn't. He's given his space at the counter for the best part of an hour and then each of his beloved friends comes filtering out of their hiding places to ask him questions. It feels a little like the death of the store and it hurts, but with his friends regarding this as an opportunity and making suggestions for Eric's future, he doesn't ache quite as much as he had imagined. It's okay. Jack come into the store at lunch and stays until three when the after-school regulars arrive. He's a comforting presence and he too has some suggestions of what Eric might like to do with his future. He's made some calls and he seems to think there are some paths available that Eric might really enjoy. He might even be right.

There's no message when Eric gets home, but he supposes that's for the best. He and Jack make fajitas and afterwards they both do the dishes. It's nice and it's not that it's new but Eric feels warmed by their intimacy now in a way he hasn't in quite some time. He's not hiding anything anymore and that gives a lightness to their interactions he sorely missed.


	8. Elevator Logic, Staircase Wit

Kent recognises that he is a cockroach. Perhaps he's not deep down but does that really matter if he's been acting like one? He left that restaurant feeling like garbage. He hurt Eric and ShopBoy, one in the same he now knew, and he also hurt Derek. The fact that their names rhymed only catches up to him when he's stepping into their shared apartment with ice cream in hand. He walks through the door laughing. Derek gives him a dark frown and the garbage feeling returns at once.

He blames the serious discussions with Derek that follows for the fact that he chickens out of sending an apology to 'ShopBoy' (Eric) right away. He's a coward and a cockroach.

He works on crafting the perfect message on and off for most of the next day. He panics when he realises that typing it into the app means that the fact that he’s writing is visible on the other side, but there’s been no indication that ShopBoy - no, Eric - has been online at all. 

He hits send eventually and then spends the rest of his day fretting about it. He's still worrying when he gets home and finds Derek checking their mail box in the foyer. He gives him a friendly nudge with his elbow, only to shrink back a little when Derek doesn't smile.

"Hi," he says, passing Kent his share of the mail as they turn to head towards the elevator. They follow in a teenage girl carrying a small dog whose bejewelled collar likely cost more than the iphone she has to her ear. Their neighbour from the floor below, a soft spoken old man with an endless collection of colourful ties calls out for them to wait. Once he's inside, Mr Sarkesian greets them all with a smile and insists on pressing the floor buttons for each person as if it's some great honour.

Kent is reminded of his cockroach status when he rolls his eyes and elevator immediately goes dark. It shudders to a stop and he yelps, grabbing Derek's arm as the emergency lights flash on around them. He hopes the shriek of the girl beside them masks his own sound but from the way Derek turns to grab him by the shoulders makes it clear he's noticed.

"Don't freak out," he says to Kent, who has never been the biggest fan of closed spaces, and he wishes it was directed at the girl too but she's too busy whispering to her dog to be panicking herself now. He glances at their neighbour who shoots him a smile. Great, so it's just Kent who's scared. He's sure his face looks stupid in his fear.

Derek pats his arm and turns away, grabbing his phone to dial the number on the elevator emergency panel. Once it's to his ear he nudges Kent with his elbow, like Kent had done in the foyer.

"Yeah hi, I'm a resident at 704 Park and our elevator has stopped with us in it. Could you send someone to free us? Great, thanks."

He gives their little group a little quirk of a smile.

"It's gonna be twenty minutes, folks. Might as well get comfy." And with that he drops to the floor, tugging Kent's sleeve as he goes.

 

_X_ 

 

An hour later they're still there.

Kent has been trying to act like he's unaware that sweat is dripping down his neck when the temperature is perfectly comfortable. Derek is holding his hand, which is nice, but he's not cuddling close. In a bid for sympathy Kent texted Chris but has had to silence his phone because Chris has been messaging him non-stop ever since. The girl, Amanda, has been trying to entertain them with stories. She started with showing off Lemonade's tricks, the puppy jumping and standing on command, but each small movement that makes the elevator creak had Kent wincing so she stopped. 

"I don't think we should take anything for granted," she continues, and it's a good point, although Kent doesn't particularly think it's as poignant seeing as she's talking about her brother losing access to the family's yacht.

"Just because you've always had something doesn't mean you deserve it, or that you're owed something. A boat is a privilege, not a right, and he just doesn't see that? Although, it was funny watching him fall off the keel when they hit the restaurant. Do you wanna see the video?" She holds out her phone and Kent politely takes it to study the footage. Admittedly, it is hilarious, but he only manages a weak smile for her.

"Thanks."

They lapse into silence again and a minute passes before Mr Sarkesian speaks up.

"You are right though, dear. We shouldn't take anything for granted. I took so much for granted in my youth, not realising none of it would last forever. I think, when we're freed, I'm going to go right out and buy some flowers for my Angelo's wife. I was cruel to her many years ago and she didn't deserve it, not for falling in love. If I had just spoken up I might not have lost my dearest friend. I suppose that's a story for a different audience though," he says, going quiet as he watches Amanda. She smiles back at him. Kent feels like maybe this is not the painfully upper crusty crowd as he'd first thought.

Beside him, Derek looks pained. 

Kent reaches out and puts his other hand over their joined fingers, squeezing in what he hopes is a soothing manner. Things are weird, but he still cares and he hopes that Derek can see that. He nudges his forehead against Derek's temple, not unlike Kitt's favourite method of affection, and wills it to help keep them both calm. 

"If I ever get out of here..." Amanda begins, but before she can finish her sentence the elevator whirs back to life and they begin their long awaited ascent. Derek lets out a long breath, but Kent finds he doesn't feel as relieved as he should. Derek squeezes on his hand and then lets go to get to his feet. 

When the elevator doors open, there is a small crowd waiting on the second floor. Kent figures the woman in tears wearing a bathrobe for Amanda's mother. There's also some sort of maintenance man in coveralls and an actual fireman. And then there's Chris. He grins, shoulders slumping from where they had been tensed by his ears, and he waves. 

"You're not dead!" He shouts, because he's a lovely person but also kind of a dick, and he gets glared at by the robed woman for it. Kent starts to chuckle but beside him Derek is still tense. He shouldn't be now that they're free but the smile he gives Chris is watery and he grabs Kent by the wrist to pull him up and forward. Kent has to awkwardly call out his goodbye to Mr Sarkesian over his shoulder as Derek marches them to the stairs, pulling Chris along when they reach him too.

"Shit. Shit," Derek says beneath his breath as they stagger away from the scene. "I need to talk to both of you." 


	9. Something New

####  **Spring**

 

It's nice to feel a fresh breeze on his face again, a rare thing packed in the middle of the city. In their effort to be more present in their relationship, Jack organised for them to have lunch by the water. It's easier to find time in their schedules now that Eric is unemployed, but they've both promised to try harder even when he does eventually start something new. 

They've been wandering since leaving the restaurant, peering at the boats at the docks and making up backstories for the people who own them. Their fingers are intertwined and swinging between them as they stride down a jetty they technically shouldn't have access to, but Jack has years of experience looking like a rich person who belonged, even if his anxiety struggles kept him from ever believing it. Neither of them like boats, but they both like the idea of them at the very least, so it's been a perfect afternoon all things considered.

"Oh, that one. It's got a paw print flag, look!" Eric laughs as he starts to pull Jack towards it. Jack resists a little and his foot falls are loud as they smack against the wooden dock in his effort to slow Eric down.

"What do you think?" He asks when he does give in, wrangling Eric and wrapping his arms around his waist from behind in what is essentially an affectionate way to keep Eric from being too close for real snooping

"Purry pirates?" Jack asks, nuzzling into Eric's hair even as Eric tries to shake him off. "Millionaire veterinarian?"

Eric scoffs and turns his head so he can see Jack, finding that even the angle of staring up at his jaw is stupidly handsome. He nudges Jack in the stomach with his elbow but squeezes on the hands over his ribs so he can't get away. 

"Please. It's clearly a crazy cat lady. With a lot of money."

He's turning to try to find another boat to mock when the pawed vessel rocks in the water. They both still and Eric's sure he's not the only one worried that they've offended the boat itself. 

A head pops out of the open hatch in the middle of the boat, the rocking the result of someone climbing the steps, and Kent Parson peers out at them. Oh shit.

"Crazy cat man, actually," he corrects them and his voice is rough. Even though he'd hardly describe him as a nemesis anymore, Eric's instinct is to turn and flee, but Jack's hold on him is firm so he's stuck staring awkwardly at someone he's spent a good amount of their encounters insulting. 

He tries to remind himself that Kent had deserved his ire, but his temper has always been large but short-lived and it's difficult to glare at Kent when he looks like whatever cat he has was just run over. His blond hair, usually coiffed or hidden under a ball cap, is a mess and in desperate need of a wash. His cheeks and eyes are red and if he doesn't have a massive cold then the only realistic assumption is that he's been crying. 

Well this is awkward.

Eric swallows and attempts to put on a smile. 

"Kent, um, are you okay? I mean, do you need help?" As uncomfortable as it is, he knows he and Jack can't just walk away from someone in need. Even if Eric is the more spiteful of them both, neither of them are cruel.

On the boat, Kent rolls his eyes and continues to emerge from the hatch. He surveys the deck for a beat and then sits down on the wood with his bare feet and the ratty hems of some well-worn pajama pants hanging over the edge.

"Professional help, maybe. No, don't worry about it, Eric. Just Derek left to run off with my best friend." He scrubs a hand over his eyes and sighs again, inspecting his hand once he's pulled it away.

"Or I mean- you met him, he's not a bad guy. He didn't cheat or nothing, but they've been like hopelessly in love with each other since college and never said anything so that... Kinda sucks."

Jack's hands tense on Eric's torso and Eric is starkly reminded of how close the both of them came to cheating territory without ever talking about it. He has been trying to avoid the topic by carefully selecting the media they consume so they don't accidentally cuddle up for a rom com with cheating or lying in it. It's always a nerve wracking moment when the topic comes up again and they both think about it, but Jack has been joyfully unaffected as far as Eric has seen.

"That's rough," Jack says after an uncomfortable silence wherein Eric has failed to come up with anything to say. Another beat and he'd have wound up blurting out something awkward, he's sure. He gently extracts himself from Jack's grip, not wanting to lord their love over him since the look Kent is giving his feet is simply wounded. 

Kent waves the sympathy off without looking up. 

"It's fine. I was a shitty boyfriend and I want them both to be happy. You two go back to your lovey dovey date or whatever." He pulls his feet back up onto the deck and gives them a pained little smile.

Eric and Jack have talked about Kent Parson quite a bit and they have well-covered the topic that Eric going out of business doesn't mean that he lost and he doesn't owe anyone anything by doing what was best for himself. Even with that in mind he still struggles now with the thought of turning away. He's going too though, since he's contributed nothing to this awkward little encounter. 

"I hope it feels better soon," he offers gently, turning to go.

"We're uh-" Jack begins, stalling when both Eric and Kent look at him. "We're making fun of the people who own these ridiculous boats. You wanna walk with us for a while?" 

Eric's mouth falls open and a silence seems to overcome the air. He can't even hear New York anymore for his surprise.

Kent clears his throat and this time his smile, still a small thing, seems a tiny bit more genuine.

"I'll uh... Just find some shoes. Thanks."

He gives them a skeptical little look before he scoots around on his butt and slips back down the hatch out of view.

Left alone again, Eric turns back to his Jack, his hands going to rest on his hips out of habit whenever he calls anyone out on outrageous behaviours (mostly children or Adam).

"Jack- what are you doing?" He's not angry and he thinks Jack knows that because he doesn't quail. He shrugs a little and Eric is a little overwhelmed, as he always is, by the all-encompassing warmth of his full attention.

"I was just thinking, you know, if I'd lost you I'd look a lot like he does. Without the yacht. Thought the guy could use some distraction."

The only practical course of action to a statement like that, Eric feels, is to throw himself into his sweet lug's arms and kiss him, so he does. He's still showing his adoration with some fervour when he hears Kent call "Ugh, gross," from the boat. They break apart out of some form of respect and Eric is hot in the face whereas Jack seems unruffled. The jerk.

"Oops," Eric murmurs as Kent jumps off the boat onto the dock. True to his word he has only gone in search of shoes and is still wearing Batman pajama bottoms, although he's also jammed a hat on his head and has a jacket in his hands. 

"Whatever. It's gotta be illegal for two people so hot to mack in public. You're going to cause accidents or something." He holds out his arms, drawing further attention to his odd little outfit.

"Sure you wanna be seen with me? I'm a hot mess and won't pretend I'm not." He shifts from foot to foot, as if he's not as sure as the bravado may suggest. 

Eric figures he can show the man some sympathy and hooks his arms through both Jack and Kent's elbows to drag them along. 

"Come on, boys. We've got rich people to make fun of. Kent, you're our inside man. Jack's filthy rich too but boats make him seasick. Give us the scoop. Is reality stranger than fiction?"

Kent squeezes Eric's arm as they walk further into the maze of boats.

"Oh man, for sure. Like, okay. That big one with the deck chairs up the top? That belongs to this lady I know who claims to have once run Spain. The country. Says she had some big affair with a dictator and he got sick so she kind of took over. She's crazy and I love her. We should stop in on the way back and she'll give us wine gums."

Kent really takes to the distraction method and he's actually not that bad company. He and Eric seem to fall into a rhythm fairly quickly, expanding on each other's comments and creating outrageous fantasy worlds for the maritime folk in a way that's every bit as easy and familiar for Eric as it was with Jack. Jack huffs out his quiet little laugh often enough, but he doesn't chime in much until Kent lightly makes fun of Eric. It's a teasing comment about his stature that wouldn't mean anything coming from anyone else but there's a brief lull as they all remember that Kent has been an enemy until just recently. It isn't mean, and it should be fine, but the pause in conversation is awkward all the same.

At least, until Jack snickers.

"He's not small, he's compact. Like a ferrari," Jack jokes, winking at Eric through his sunglasses and making Eric sputter with playful indignance. 

"See if I ever give you a ride again," he mutters, and it's not a polite comment but it's fitting for them. They smirk at each other as Kent has to pause to hack up a lung from laughing so hard. Eric has never really heard him laugh before. It's a nice sound, warmer than his dry speaking voice. 

"Geez, Zimmermann," Kent rasps once he's upright again, no longer holding onto a railing for support. "You gotta be careful with that stuff. He might confiscate your licence. No rides for you."

Jack laughs and wraps an arm around Eric's shoulders.

"I'm not worried. We ride share." 

Eric swats at Jack for that. It's an awkward joke but he knows exactly what Jack's referring to and he just hopes it flies over Kent's head.

It doesn't.

He leers, grinning wide at them. "Is that an invitation?" He teases, winking back before quickly diverting the conversation over to the prospect of food.

 

_X_

 

After over an hour of startlingly delightful conversation and chirping, they wind up at a churro cart by Boat's Basin. Both Jack and Kent offer to pay but Eric is adamant that just because he's unemployed doesn't mean he's incapable of buying snacks, so he leaves the two of them on a bench while he gets the food.

It's a little awkward. 

Kent can't quite keep his eyes off Eric, which is definitely weird considering he's been moping over Derek and Chris' newfound happiness, is sitting next to Eric's committed boyfriend, and he's in the middle of New York in his jammies.

He can't seem to muster up the shame over it though and just keeps watching. He thinks Eric might be haggling. It's that or he's getting the man's life story.

Jack clears his throat beside him. Kent doesn't quite turn his head all the way to look and instead regards him out of the corner of his eye. The last time they'd met he'd noticed he was gorgeous, naturally, but mostly he'd seen him as some sort of bodyguard hanging out in Eric Bittle's periphery. 

"Bits says you want to be friends. That you apologised for your corporate greed." 

Kent nods after a beat.

"I've been shitty about a lot of things. I said some cruel stuff, although the last time I saw him he really got me back. I was kind of proud."

Jack hums, turning away so they're both staring at Eric instead of each other.

"What happened with your boyfriend? Were you cruel there too?"

It's a blunt question, but Kent can't really summon the ire to be offended. He's spent more than enough time on this topic to know that the break up was a necessary result.

"No, just negligent. We were introduced through my best friend. They went to college together and rather than admit that they were madly in love with each other they pushed that shit down. I mean, they both have plenty of practice repressing stuff. I took Derek for granted," he sighs, shoving his hands up into his opposite armpits so he doesn't fidget with them.

Jack says nothing, so he might as well keep talking.

"I was still a jerk though. I fell in love with someone I met online and went to him for all my emotional support and green bean needs. I fucked that up too but I was so caught up in it that I never made any time for Derek. He was struggling with this job I helped him find and I never really noticed. He quit the day after I moved out and he's going to get his masters in poetry while Chris makes the money for a while. I had no idea that's what he wanted. I suppose that's part of the point."

He's musing now, kind of liking the idea of talking to someone other than his cat. Usually he'd bore Chris with all this stuff, but it's awkward now. Chris promises he still loves Kent and keeps offering to come over, clearly carrying some guilt over the whole thing, but that's not what Kent wants. Maybe he should text him again though, just to show that it's mutual. He thinks they'll get through it.

He wants to say something of this nature to Jack, thinking him a good listener, but Jack is staring now. He's looking back and his mouth is hanging open. Kent doesn't think Jack Zimmermann is a man who is flabbergasted often and he doesn't wear it well. 

"What?" He squeezes his arms down onto his hands and tries desperately not to feel self-conscious over running his mouth. He refuses to be embarrassed about that, of all things.

Jack glances across at the churro cart, where Eric is refusing his change, and then closes his mouth with a click and fixes his gaze back on Kent.

"You're NY704." He says it En-Why, whereas Kent has always thought of it as being 'Nigh', and he has a brief moment of thinking that it's hysterical as all the colour drains out of his face. He hadn't figured Jack would know. 

In a panic he wonders briefly if he should pretend he thinks _Jack_ is ShopBoy, but why would he? He swallows, exhales, then nods.

"Um. Yeah. But like, I had no idea who I was talking to until a couple weeks ago. We haven't like- He never let me believe being together was an option. I know I've been an ass but I'm not looking to cause any more people to cry this week. I won't tell him, okay? I'll just go home after this and we can go back to all being near strangers. Okay? Jack?"

So much for being a good listener, he's not even sure if Jack has taken all of this in for how confused he looks. He should have stayed on the boat, but it's Eric. He's always been drawn to him, in some way or another, whether it was pouring his heart out to his email address or riling him up in person. He isn't able to keep the two separate now that he knows.

Jack isn't recovered when Eric returns. The bench isn't big enough for three so Eric drops into Jack's lap so he can pass out their food. He flashes Kent a smile and makes sure he has enough dipping sauce.

"What did you boys find to talk about, hmm?" He asks and it would be sweet if not for the mouthful of sugar he has.

"Nothing," Kent says, at the same time Jack says "You."

Eric laughs.


	10. Connection

Jack knows, objectively, that it is rude to wear a hat inside and that a ballcap pulled low over his eyes is not as inconspicuous as he might like. It’s not as if he’s a celebrity, but he has someone he wants to see before he gets to the real reason of his visit. He’s not sure why but he feels the need to be covert.

Being in Ace Books still feels somewhat like being in enemy territory, even though it’s been weeks since he and Eric started spending time with Kent Parson. He’d even been happy to hire Dex on to run the Children’s section. 

That’s where he heads first, hands shoved in his pockets until he reaches the plush archway between two bookshelves that leads to the kids books. It’s the most ornate section of the entire store, although Jack notes with a smirk that while it is warm and inviting, there are no twinkle lights to be found. Dex would never.

He finds Dex looking harried as he finishes up making recommendations to a concerned mother.

“No, honestly. There’s way more to teen fiction than vampires. Twilight came out over a decade ago, it’s not the current trend. Look, just take a look around. There’s lots here for your daughter. I promise.”

Dex turns away with a pinched look on his face, though it eases when he spots Jack.

“Hey, man! What are you doing here?” He happily strides away from the woman he’d been helping who looks primed to ask more questions.

Jack pulls the brim of his hat up a bit and hugs Dex when he’s close enough. Neither of them are particularly huggers by trade, but with their tactile group of friends it’s become a habit. It’s rather nice, actually, Jack has found.

“Just passing by. Haven't seen you this week. Is it all going okay?" He leans in a little, though his expression doesn't change much. He's going for conspiratorial.

"Need me and Bits to mess anyone up for you here?"

He's not a violent man by any means, but he wouldn't put it past Eric's protective streak. Dex knows him well so he snorts, not impressed by the joke but also not even vaguely intimidated by the gesture.

"No, don't sic Bitty on anybody. It's kinda great here? It feels sorta blasphemous to even think that but, so, sorry." Dex scrubs at the back of his neck and smiles helplessly. 

Jack's shoulders relax a fraction, because he does worry. He's always been "Bitty's boyfriend" to these people but he's come to treasure them. He's closest to Larissa by far but he does really care about their little group.

"That's good, Dex. You don't have to be sorry. Bits is itching to have taco night or something soon so we can all officially meet Adam's new partner and he'd kill me if I didn't mention it when I saw you. Next week?"

Dex nods after a brief hesitation. His brows start to draw together like he's got a tricky customer incoming.

"Think I could bring a friend?" 

At Jack's raised eyebrows he quickly continues.

"No, it's not like that. I really mean a friend. It's just, he works here too? Chris is my boss but he's like the best. I went out for drink with him and his partner last week and they're awesome. I just thought they might fit in, you know?"

Jack keeps his concerned expression just a beat too long in order to put Dex on edge, then he chuckles. Dex darts out to push him back a step and laughs.

"Asshole. You'll like them, okay?"

Jack holds up his hands in surrender and starts to back away.

"They're not the enemy and neither are you. See ya, buddy."

He turns with a wave and pulls off his cap as he heads towards the back of the store where he figures he might be able to charm his way through to the offices. He is a journalist after all and his name usually carries some weight. 

He's only just running his hand through his hair to straighten it when something jabs him in the fold of his knee and he jerks forward a step.

“Shit! Sorry!” 

Jack knows Kent’s voice but he’s still so confused as he turns. What was that?

“I don’t know why I did that. Sorry. Hi.” 

Kent is pinching the bridge of his nose and he shoots Jack an apologetic look. Jack finds it oddly charming, though dead-legging as greeting still seems rather uncalled for. He wants to joke back, but then he remembers why he’s even here.

Kent pales under Jack’s instinctive glare so he does his best to soften his expression just a little.

“Let’s get lunch. We need to talk about what you’re going to tell Bits. Eric.”

Jack scrunches his hat in his hand a little and waits as Kent’s expression cycles through several versions of panic, anger and resignation. Finally, he sighs.

“I wanted to be his friend but, if you think it’s better he knows..” Kent concedes and his shoulders drop low. Jack finds himself taking a step closer.

“I don’t think you’re going to lose him. Come on. Lunch.”

The look in Kent’s eyes is so hopeful Jack realises he might just be in over his head and he does not care.

 

_X_

 

Things with Jack and Eric are better than they've ever been, he knows this, but he can't help feeling a tiny flare of resentment the longer he sits in his uber with a hot casserole in his lap. He understands that it's important that make time for each other and these date nights are part of that, but he doesn't know why Jack insists on meeting at his own apartment for green bean casserole. It isn't even really a spring recipe. 

When they do finally break through the small stretch of inevitable traffic he's relieved to take the dish off his thighs and carry it upstairs, even if it does require stopping and starting to get through the doors and elevators.

When he unlocks Jack’s door he isn’t struck by anything unusual. The lights are on, there’s a window open on the far wall, and Jack is nowhere in sight. Thinking nothing of this, he makes for the kitchen so he can put the dish in the oven for a little while to warm through. 

He stops a step away from rounding the corner into the kitchen area when he hears a laugh. He hasn’t been stealthy about his entrance so he can’t pretend he’s not there, but the sound pulls him up nonetheless. 

Pulling himself together he decides Jack is on the phone and follows the murmuring through to the kitchen. 

Except of course, he isn’t on the phone.

Jack is leaning against the counter, smirking, watching Kent Parson shovel popcorn into his mouth from a large bowl.

Kent stops chewing when he locks eyes with Eric, mouth thankfully shut but he’s still bulging at the cheeks. 

Eric is sure he would have stayed put staring back, but the casserole dish is getting uncomfortably warm through the dishcloth he’s using as a potholder, so he marches over towards the oven. 

“Hi boys. Jack?” He nods to the oven, but there’s more to the request than just to open the oven door for him, which he does promptly. He wants answers.

With the food settled in place to warm, Eric turns back to Kent with a smile. It’s strange to see him, but not entirely unwelcome. 

Kent has used his moment to swallow and he’s a little red in the face. 

“Hi. Sorry. It’s the maple stuff, you know.” Kent gestures to the half-empty bowl now left on the counter top and it makes Eric laugh.

“Oh the signature Canadian popcorn. Right. Say no more.” He winks at Kent before he steps up to kiss Jack in greeting.

“You’re so proud of that popcorn, sweetheart. Are we watching a movie?” 

Jack’s hands rest on Eric’s hips as he smiles down at him. It’s a soft little look, an affectionate gaze he’s been seeing more of these days, though there’s a slight crease between his brows.

“Yeah. If you want to. But Kenny’s got something to talk to you about first.”

“ _ Kenny _ ?” Eric can’t help getting stuck on the nickname. He turns to look at ‘Kenny’ and takes a moment to study him.

While Jack is dressed rather comfortably in that soft hoodie Eric likes so much, Kent looks more like he’s come from work. Though Eric can’t claim to know him too well, they have been seeing more of each other of late and he’s never seen this lavender tie before. While Kent usually favours business casual, it goes well with the taupe tone of his suit, but sits a little loose on his throat, like he’s pulled at it a time too many.

Kent's hand starts to rise to it now, but he stops short and looks to the living room area, closer to the entrance.

“Oh. Now? Don’t you want to-“ He cuts off with a look to Jack and after a pause turns his gaze back to Eric. 

Eric stares back, feeling oddly a little nervous, even with the comforting warmth of Jack’s presence at his back.

“What’s up, Kent?” He asks, trying to keep his tone light and not betray the sinking feeling in his stomach. His first guess is that something is happening to his vacant store, no longer his. If it winds up demolished, or a Spencers, he might never recover.

The silence is uncomfortable but he waits Kent out as he rubs his hands together then eventually shoves them in his pockets. He goes to speak, closes his mouth, then opens it again, looking pained.

“I’m… Nigh seven oh four.” 

The words don’t compute for a moment, rather like hearing back a phone number in a different rhythm than expected, but when they do Eric feels suddenly woozy.

He only wavers a little, but Jack’s hands are firm on his sides to steady him. It also makes him feel, for a moment, like he can’t get away so he pulls against it.

Jack lets him go easily and Eric staggers the one step until his hand rests on the counter. 

“You can’t be.” He says, as if that will make it true. He doesn’t look at Kent, not sure if he can.

“I’m so sorry,” Kent replies after a beat and he really sounds it. Eric can see his shoes  shuffling slowly towards him. They look expensive, but unforgivably scuffed at the toe. It seems stupid to be focusing on that now, but it’s a lot easier than his words.

“Eric, I didn’t know it was you, I promise. Not until um, until you wanted to meet. I was such an asshole I’m sorry but I knew you would be so unhappy it was me I thought it would just be better to go except, you looked so hopeful. I couldn’t stay outside. I didn’t tell anyone anything private you said to me, well except-“

Eric raises his head and thinks Kent is gesturing back to Jack and he might be, but his thoughts immediately go to the oven, containing a fresh batch of that green bean casserole that no one got to eat at Thanksgiving. He hadn’t told anyone else how upsetting that day was, not wanting to hurt the feelings of the people he loves, but it had seemed safe to tell NY704. Kent.

It seems so outrageous that a laugh bubbles out of him, a tad wet and verging on hysterical. He clamps his mouth shut and whirls around to Jack. He’s got that encouraging smile on again, with the eyebrow crease, and it makes more sense now.

“Kenny let it slip when we all started hanging out. I thought it was better he tell you himself. I’m sorry too.”

The world might be spinning, Eric isn’t sure, but it all feels wrong yet somehow makes a little sense. The Kent he’s been seeing, that he’s tentatively befriended, is a sweet sardonic man, if still a bit of an asshole. It also explains why Kent’s been so loyal Eric, having been rivals for so long. The friendship has been too easy, too natural, for two enemies. Previous to this Eric had assumed it was just because their rivalry was the result of them having so much in common.

“If you hate me again, it’s okay. I know this probably feels like a violation or something. Even if it isn’t, it’s definitely weird. So I can go. But um, I just wanted to say you’ve been really important to me for a long time, and it was nice. Getting to know you.”

Kent makes like he’s going to offer a handshake, but he aborts it, becoming an awkward wave instead. He starts to track backwards out of the room, not turning his back to them.

“Kent, stop,” Eric says quickly, though he doesn’t have a follow up planned. He has no idea what he’s feeling, but it isn’t hatred. He isn’t even as upset as he thinks he should be, but he’s still off-kilter.

He watches Kent’s face, tracks the way he’s being intently studied and shrugs softly.

“You want some casserole? It’s just about the worst thing you could eat with popcorn, but there’s plenty.”

Kent’s face breaks into a wide smile, flooding with apparent relief, though he stays put by the exit.

“I was thinking…” Jack begins, cutting in after having let them have their moment. His tone is measured and Eric has no doubt that some serious thought has been given, even if it’s just about the appetisers.

“If it’s something you want,” he continues, not quite looking at either of them but determined nonetheless, “that since it’s date night. Kent- Kenny. Could stay?”

Eric looks from Jack, to Kent, and back again. These men have both meant so much to him, both good and not, so he knows he should say something important. He’s mostly been silent in this whole exchange, struggling to take it all in while this orchestrated reveal plays out around him. Now is the time to say something thoughtful and poignant. 

He doesn’t manage that.

“Oh.” It comes out like a sigh, slipping through his lips without any real input on his part. It’s not enough, so eventually he adds, “Yes.”

Judging from the expressions on their faces, Eric has said all he needs to.

 

Later, sitting on Jack’s expansive couch with his boys on either side of him and a bowl of popcorn on his lap, watching some dialogue-heavy Nora Ephron movie, Eric realises that this feeling is not only nice, but has an honest chance of becoming something more.

For once, Eric can’t wait to see what the future will bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Comments are love. Come say hi to me on [tumblr!](https://that-thing-you-roo.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Come reblog this work and view others from this fest [HERE](https://pbj-epifest.tumblr.com/) on the PB&J Epifest tumblr page!


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